


Lucky to Be Here

by Seraphtrevs



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Gothic Romance, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Seduction, Toxic Relationship, problematic to the extreme, tragic ending (no character death)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 54,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25517776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: The stranger leaned against the stall and crossed his arms, still smiling. “So you’re the one who has to do all the dirty work around here, eh?” He winked.The wink threw Ciro off. “Oh, I don’t mind,” he stammered out eventually. “I’m just lucky to be here.”The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Lucky?”Ciro found it hard to think, being the focus of this man’s attention. “Yeah. I love horses, and so working here, it’s a dream come true for me.”“It’s a dream come true to spend the day shoveling shit?”Ciro’s cheeks heated. “I-I do other things too, señor.”The man threw his head back and laughed. “I’m just messing with you, man! What’s your name?”“Ciro.”“Nice to meet you, Ciro.” The man’s dark eyes danced like flames. “My name’s Eduardo, but you can call me Lalo.”The seduction of Ciro by one Lalo Salamanca - a cautionary tale
Relationships: Ciro/Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca
Comments: 101
Kudos: 48





	1. A Bird in a Cage

**Author's Note:**

> This fic portrays a relationship with a twenty year age gap (21 and early 40s), and yes, it is presented as extremely problematic. Things do not end well for Ciro and Lalo, although Ciro will eventually escape. If you are sensitive to portrayals of toxic relationships, this is NOT the fic for you. Consider yourself warned.

[Playlist on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/56dv2in8e5MxKTHmLcfGKo?si=vxhFI6JwSu23RM-Qk7lNag)

_Then I will tell about a dream. I was walking alone through the woods, when finally I came to a house. Inside there was not a single human soul, but on the wall there was a bird in a cage. It cried out:_

_Turn back, turn back...  
You are in a murderer's house._

\- from _The Robber Bridegroom_

Ciro remembered his mother’s warnings.

Not to him, of course, but to his sister, Rosa, only a year younger than him. She would always roll her eyes at her mother’s lectures about men who have one thing on their mind and will leave you high and dry once they get it. _Be especially wary of the charming ones_ , she would say. _Don’t trust any man who makes you feel too good._

 _Okay Mamá, I’ll only date men who make me feel terrible_. Rosa would catch Ciro’s eye, and they'd share an exasperated smile at their mother’s fussing.

She'd scowl. _You know what I mean. You’re my daughter and I love you, but you are not a princess. Find a man who treats you like a woman, and with respect. That’s worth more than romance._

But her lectures were for Rosa and their little sisters, not him. His mother cautioned him once or twice not to get a girl pregnant, but her warnings were half-hearted. She must have known on some level that there was little danger of that happening.

Ciro wondered if there had been some calamity in his mother's past that made her so passionate on the subject. If it were true, then his mother had escaped. Ciro was glad for her, but there would be no escape for him. He felt embarrassed for how easily he fell into the trap, and wondered if Lalo ever laughed about it, when he was out in the world committing God knew what kind of atrocities. But the truth was probably much sadder.

He doubted Lalo thought of him at all.

***

There wasn’t much to do on Lalo’s estate while he was away. Ciro liked to ride—that was one promise Lalo had kept. A stable full of horses, essentially all his since Lalo was around so little. Their care was the only thing that kept him sane. He took Balada out riding every day, relishing the strength of her under him as he flew across Lalo’s property, always stopping at the edge, gazing out into the desert that lay beyond.

Sometimes he thought of leaving. He doubted Lalo would hunt him down. His mother and sisters would lose the support Lalo gave them, but he didn’t think Lalo would harm them. But he felt ashamed of himself, and wasn’t sure he’d be welcomed back anyway. At least this way, his family was spared poverty. He wasn’t particularly eager to fall back into that himself.

Maybe he was wrong, though—maybe Lalo would miss him. _Mi pájarito_ , he used to call him. His little bird. A pet. An amusement. Something to do when he was bored in between jobs. Would Lalo be enraged his little bird had flown the coop? Or would he just find another one? Ciro wasn’t as young as used to be—he’d be twenty-seven next month, making it six years since he'd come to live with Lalo. Did little birds ever get too old, he wondered? What happened to them then?

Not that he was sure it was solely his youth that had attracted Lalo when they first met. But what else could it be? There was nothing special about him, although Lalo had once made him feel like there was. Ciro was not a prince—just a poor, stupid boy.

Maybe if he had been a poor, stupid girl instead, he would have taken his mother’s warnings to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this looks like it's going to run about nine chapters, and I feel like I should give a warning before I really get started.
> 
> Ciro will be getting his very own Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul-style cautionary story. Lalo will manipulate him, but he won't ever be coerced. His choices will be his own, despite the opportunities he has to walk away. 
> 
> All the same, this feels darker than my other fics - or maybe just dark in a different way, since poor Ciro is so guileless.
> 
> If that hasn't chased you away, I'll see you next chapter!


	2. Today Is Your Saint's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Ciro's twenty-first birthday, Lalo Salamanca comes barreling into his life.

Ciro’s twenty-first birthday was not supposed to have been eventful.

He’d woken up at 4 am, the same he did every morning. His mother, grandmother, and sisters were still asleep. His mother and eldest sister, Rosa, would rise soon for work themselves, but Ciro was always careful not to disturb their last moments of rest. Their house was small—two bedrooms for the six of them—but they owned it, which was more than a lot of people could say.

When he went to make his coffee, there was a note from his sister slipped into his coffee mug. _Happy birthday, tonto. I’m bringing cake home tonight so you better be home on time. Love, Rosa_

He laughed quietly and tucked it in his pocket as he finished breakfast.

There was another surprise when he went to put on his boots. His old ones had vanished, replaced with a brand-new pair. Inside the left boot was another note. _Happy birthday, mijo. Don’t worry about the cost, I got a special deal. We’ll see you tonight. Love, Mamá_

Tears sprang in his eyes. He rubbed them away with annoyance—why did he always have to be so emotional? Another breath and he composed himself. He hoped his mother was telling the truth about the deal.

Once he was dressed, he went outside and to wait for his ride. It was nearly pitch black, the only light coming from the porch. Their small house was quite a way out of town, although there was a bus stop about a mile down the road. The bus didn’t go to where Ciro worked at the horse ranch, though, so Ciro relied on Jorge, a coworker of his, who gave him a lift every morning. Spring mornings were cold, but Ciro didn’t mind too much. He liked the quiet and the crispness of the air before the sun ripened the day.

At 4:30 exactly, Jorge’s beat-up old pick-up truck rambled up to the driveway. Ciro climbed in.

“Morning, Ciro!” Jorge boomed once he shut the door. He was a jovial old man, probably too old for work on the ranch, but the patrón kept him around anyway. His white hair and mustache made him oddly luminescent in the near-dark. “You ready to shovel some shit?”

Ciro laughed. He said the same thing every day. “Of course! Let’s go.”

The ride passed mostly in amicable silence. Ciro considered bringing his birthday up, but decided he didn’t want the attention. Soon they arrived at Rancho de la Suerte – Lucky Ranch. It was the perfect name, because Ciro felt lucky, each and every morning he arrived. He could be out in the fields picking crops, or crowded in a factory somewhere. Instead, he got to work at a beautiful horse breeding ranch with magnificent horses. And if he worked very hard and the day wasn’t too busy, Señor Hernández let Ciro ride them.

He and Jorge got to work right away. Señor Hernández’s trainers, who lived at the ranch, had already started feeding and watering the horses. Ciro, Jorge, and another man, Daniel, were in charge of mucking out the stalls. It took them most of the day to get to all of them. Some people might describe it as thankless work, but Ciro never would. The horses thanked him.

It was probably silly to think that and he would never say it aloud, but it was true. Each horse had their own way of telling Ciro they appreciated him. Sweet Hadya said it with shy blinks of her eyes. Fiery Adriano would snort and shake his head. Strong Gambino would give a few approving clops of his hoof, and so on. He loved all of them, but the one horse that truly had his heart was Balada.

Balada, whose name meant song, was a gorgeous black mare, powerful yet gentle, with a strong intelligence peering out of her enormous eyes. He’d only gotten to ride her once, when the patrón was feeling especially generous, as she was his favorite too. Being astride her was like riding the wind itself. She was young yet, but she would be bred soon—the patrón expected many fine foals from her.

Ciro always saved her stall for last, so that he could spend a little extra time with her. She whinnied when she saw him. He touched her nose and smiled.

“Morning, girl. Do you want to know a secret?” She tossed her head, which Ciro interpreted as a nod. “It’s my birthday today. And I wished for a ride on you. Do you think it will come true?”

She snorted in what Ciro chose to interpret as a yes. He gave her another few pats before leading her out to the pasture and returning to muck out the stall.

He had just finished when a tall, handsome stranger entered the stable. He had a mustache and a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, with one wide, white streak just over his forehead. His shirt was a paisley button down, rolled at the sleeves. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a thin gold chain with a saint medal. His jeans were fashionably faded, and his gold belt buckle glinted in the morning sun. When the man caught Ciro’s eye, his face lit up as if he had been looking for Ciro and was delighted to have finally found him. But that couldn’t be true. Ciro had never met him before. It was strange for a visitor to be here this early.

He set down the wheelbarrow. “Can I help you, señor?”

The stranger leaned against the stall and crossed his arms, still smiling. “So you’re the one who has to do all the dirty work around here, eh?” He winked.

The wink threw him off. “Oh, I don’t mind,” he stammered out eventually. “I’m just lucky to be here.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Lucky?”

Ciro found it hard to think, being the focus of this man’s attention “Yeah. I love horses, and so working here, it’s a dream come true for me.”

“It’s a dream come true to spend the day shoveling shit?”

Ciro’s cheeks heated. “I-I do other things too, señor.”

The man threw his head back and laughed. “I’m just messing with you, man!” He stepped away from the stall, and his eyes raked over him. “I’m looking for a new mount, and I think you’re just the guy to help me. Will you show me around?”

Ciro bit his lip. “Señor Hernández or one of the trainers would be a better guide. I just clean the stalls.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want them. I want you.” He flashed him a grin. “What do you say?”

What _could_ he say? “All right.”

The man patted him on the shoulder. “Excellent! What’s your name?”

“Ciro.”

“Nice to meet you, Ciro.” The man’s dark eyes danced like flames. “My name’s Eduardo, but you can call me Lalo.”

Ciro squinted as they left the stable and stepped fully into the light. Señor Hernandez was standing just outside. The patrón was a stoic man usually, but right now he looked nervous.

“Ciro here is going to show me around,” Lalo said brightly. “I’m sure you’ve got things you need to attend to.”

“Of course, señor,” he said with a strange sort of half-bow. He met Ciro’s gaze briefly, but Ciro couldn’t interpret it. “Ciro would be happy to show you any horse you like. We are at your disposal.”

Lalo waved his hand dismissively and turned his full attention to Ciro. He gave him a dazzling smile. “Show me what you got!”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Lalo shrugged. “Nah, I just wanted to look around. I’m in town on business for a few weeks. I am going to have to deal with some serious bullshit on this trip, so I thought I’d get myself something nice to put me in a better mood.”

A businessman, then—a very rich one. No wonder Señor Hernández looked nervous—the ranch did well enough, but a wealthy customer with connections brought a lot of opportunities they couldn’t afford to pass up. Ciro would do his best to make a good impression.

They set out on their tour, meeting the horses. Lalo was friendly to any staff they came across—maybe too friendly, but at the same time, it didn’t seem put on.

“So why are you lucky?” Lalo asked at once they’d made the rounds and were heading back to the front of the ranch.

Ciro blinked at the question. “Sorry?”

“To work here with the horses,” Lalo said.

Ciro twisted his fingers, unsure of how to answer. “Well—I guess because I get to ride them sometimes.”

He hoped that would be a good enough answer, but Lalo kept pressing. “And why do you like to ride them?” His posture was relaxed, his voice casual, but the intensity of his gaze made Ciro’s heart race.

He could try for another half-answer, but Lalo clearly wouldn’t be happy until Ciro gave him something more. “When I’m riding, I don’t have to think about anything else. I can just be in the moment, just me and the horse.” He shut his eyes and imagined himself on Balada’s back, the wind whipping through his hair as he leaned forward, urging her on as they headed toward the horizon. “And when the rhythm is just right, it almost feels like I could fly away…”

Ciro’s eyes shot open at Lalo’s chuckle. “And where would you fly to, pájarito?” he asked. His voice had dropped, and that gaze of his had shifted to something that Ciro didn’t understand.

His face felt like it was on fire. “I-I don’t know, señor.”

Lalo laughed again, but it wasn’t unkind. “I’m only teasing you! That’s a good answer—I feel the same way. Everyone needs an escape, yeah?”

“I guess so.” Sweat beaded on his brow despite the still chilly morning air. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, and Rosa’s note flutter out, carried by a light breeze.

Lalo caught it in midair and read it before Ciro could react. A huge smile came across his face. “Hey, is it your birthday?”

Ciro didn’t think it was possible for his face to get any hotter, but somehow it did. “Yes.”

“That’s great, man! How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one,” Lalo echoed. He tilted his head. “Anyone sing to you yet?”

Ciro’s stomach dropped. “No, but I don’t—”

Lalo ignored him and burst into “Las Mañanitas”—not quietly either. He belted in a rich baritone:

_“This is the morning song that King David sang_

_Because today is your saint's day we're singing it for you_

_Wake up, Ciro, wake up, look it is already dawn_

_The birds are already singing and the moon has set…”_

Curious members of the staff gathered as he continued to sing, although they kept their distance. Ciro fought the urge to run into the stable and hide.

Lalo moved a little closer to Ciro as he continued, his expression shifting to something more mischievous—no, not mischievous, that was the wrong word. Rougish, maybe. Those dark eyes locked on Ciro’s—he couldn’t move it he tried. Oddly enough, he didn’t want to anymore.

_“I would like to be the sunshine to enter through your window_

_to wish you good morning while you're lying in your bed_

_I would like to be a Saint John I would like to be a Saint Peter_

_To sing to you with the music of heaven…”_

Closer now. Lalo put a hand over his heart as the song continued. It was so over the top that Ciro laughed in spite of himself—mostly nerves, but having this stranger serenade him was so bizarre that he had no choice but to laugh.

_“Of the stars in the sky I have to lower two for you_

_One with which to greet you and the other to wish you goodbye_

_With jasmines and flowers we come to greet you_

_Because today is your saint’s day, we come to sing to you…”_

He was a breath away, so close Ciro could smell him. Cologne like leather and spice. There was a beat of silence, their gazes still locked. And then Lalo turned to the gathered staff and bowed elaborately. People applauded. He turned back to Ciro with another flourish, and Ciro laughed again, even though he thought he might combust.

A joke, of course, and it was just the birthday song. But the way Lalo was looking at him didn’t feel like a joke. But what else could it be? “Thanks,” he said, because it felt like he should say something.

Lalo grinned. “Any birthday wishes?”

Ciro rubbed his neck. “I-I was going to ask for a ride later.”

“That’s all?” Lalo shook his head. “You don’t ask for much, do you pájarito?”

He officially had a nickname, it seemed. His heart fluttered, as if it might fly away.

Lalo patted him on the back, his hand lingering just a moment too long. “Come on, I want to talk to your patrón.”

Soon, they were back where they started. Señor Hernández had caught sight of them and started to make his way over.

“Which horse is your favorite?” Lalo asked.

“Balada,” Ciro said immediately.

“The black mare, right?” Lalo fiddled with his necklace as he thought. “Then that is the horse I shall have,” he announced.

Ciro blanched. “Oh, no señor, she’s not for sale.”

Lalo winked. “She will be for me.” He let his necklace drop and waved to the patrón. Ciro tilted his head to see what saint Lalo looked to for protection, and he made out the thin curve of a scythe. Santa Muerte.

The narco saint.

“Did you find something to your liking, Señor Salamanca?” his patrón asked, his mouth stretched into something like a smile.

Salamanca. Ciro knew that name—everyone did. Had he really just been casually chatting with a member of one of the most notorious narco families? His stomach flipped

“Yes, as a matter a fact,” Lalo said. “I’ll be taking Balada.”

Hernández’s eyes squeezed shut briefly, but his smile didn’t waver. “Of course.”

“Excellent!” Lalo shook Hernández’s hand heartily. “We can settle the price inside. I won’t be headed out for a few weeks, so we’ll just keep her here, yeah?”

Hernádez swallowed and nodded. “Of course.”

“And hey—let Ciro here have a ride today. Did you know it’s his birthday?”

Hernádez gave Ciro a puzzled look. "Yes, of course."

Lalo gestured ahead. “Shall we, then?”

Ciro stood frozen in place as the two men walked away. Lalo turned around briefly and pointed at Ciro. “I’ll be back to ride my horse tomorrow! You get her ready for me, yeah?”

Lalo didn’t wait for an answer, instead putting an arm around his poor patrón’s shoulders, chatting and laughing away. He gave Ciro one last look over his shoulder one more time before he disappeared into the front office and waved. Ciro waved back, his heart pounding. He couldn’t decide if he was frightened or excited to see him again.

***

“So you have a good birthday?” his mother asked as they finished their cake. She was still in her maid’s uniform and there were bags under her eyes.

Ciro wiped at his cheek where a bit of frosting still lingered; Rosa had shoved his face into the cake. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, even Lucia, who was eight, and little Mia, who had just turned five last month. He could have told them he was serenaded by a narco, but it felt like a secret for some reason. “Uh, yeah. Hernández let me ride Balada.”

His mother smiled tiredly. “How lovely!”

Ciro ate his last bite of cake. “She was sold today.”

Rosa’s eyebrows shot up. “Sold? I thought he was going to breed her.”

“It was some rich guy. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Actually, Hernández hadn’t even tried. He wondered if anyone said no to Lalo.

Rosa snorted. “Rich assholes.” She was still in her maid’s uniform too.

“He seemed nice,” Ciro said before he could stop himself.

“If you say so. But in my experience, there’s no such thing as a nice rich person.” Rosa got up and stretched. “I’m going to take a shower.”

His grandmother stood up, unsteady on her feet. It worried Ciro—she was home alone all day with the girls and said she was fine, but it was hard for her to run after a little ones at her age. At least Mia would start school next year—that would give her a little bit of a break. She kissed Ciro’s temple. “Happy birthday, mijo. We love you very much.”

Ciro got to his feet and hugged her. “Thanks, Abuelita.”

They cleaned up and got ready for bed—everyone went to sleep early in their house. Usually Ciro was so tired he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, but tonight his mind raced. He should hate Lalo. When he was fifteen, his father and younger brother had been killed by narcos—bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time.

His older brother had disappeared soon after. His father’s death had led them to the brink of poverty as his mother scrambled to find work. His brother told them he’d found a job, but wouldn’t say what. He sent money home for a few months—more money than seemed possible. But then the money had stopped, and no one knew what happened to him.

But when he thought of Lalo, he had a hard time reconciling him with a cold, cruel narco. He seemed so friendly…

And there was more. Ciro had known he wasn’t like other boys since he was a little kid, although he swore he’d never let anyone know. It wasn’t like he had time to get into trouble, anyway, nor did he really want to. But the way Lalo had looked at him…surely it couldn’t be possible. A gay narco?

He thought again of Lalo’s dark eyes, the way he smiled at Ciro, his shirt unbuttoned enough that Ciro could see his chest. His cock hardened. He glanced over at Rosa to make sure she was asleep, and then wrapped his hand around himself. It only took a few tugs before he came in his hand. He got up to the bathroom to clean up.

Afterward, he stared at himself in the mirror. He wasn't bad looking, he guessed, but certainly nothing special. Lalo probably just enjoyed teasing him. Everyone did since he was so quick to blush. And Lalo was older - late thirties, maybe forty. What would he want with an awkward kid like him?

No, he'd been imagining things. He doubted Lalo would even give him a second glance tomorrow. It was probably for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lalo is quite the charming monster. Poor Ciro. Also, the Mexican birthday song is weirdly romantic.
> 
> A note on Spanish - Obviously, all of the characters are speaking in Spanish. I've decided to keep names and nicknames, and things like "señor" and "abuelita" in Spanish for flavor. 
> 
> I got the age Ciro was when his dad died wrong in the prologue, so I've fixed it now.
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic, I'd love to hear what you think!


	3. Of Hawks and Doves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciro and Lalo go for a ride.

Ciro was wrong. Lalo didn’t forget about him.

Lalo arrived early the next morning and found him right away. “Put that shovel away,” he said, poking his head inside the stall Ciro was cleaning. He was wearing a black cowboy hat. “You’re coming riding with me.” He disappeared.

Ciro blinked stupidly at where Lalo had been. Had he just imagined that? But after a few moments, Lalo appeared again, stepping into the stall this time. “Come on, man. Let’s go! Unless you want to shovel shit all day.”

“But I have to finish—”

“Ciro,” Lalo interrupted. “It’s all been settled. Someone else will take care of that.” He clapped him on the back once, and then put both hands on his shoulders and squeezed. “Oh, very strong! I guess all that shoveling is good for something!” He winked and then was gone again.

Still dazed, Ciro leaned the shovel against the wall and took off his gloves. His skin tingled where Lalo had touched him. He wasn’t wrong—Ciro _was_ strong. It was hard to believe that a year ago, he’d been scrawny as a scarecrow. He almost wasn’t hired at the ranch, and the first couple months were brutal. But slowly, things got easier. His shoulders broadened so much that he had to buy new shirts. Sometimes he’d catch his reflection in the mirror and be surprised to see his older brother Raffa staring back at him. Raffa, who had joined the cartel and vanished.

He shook off that thought and followed after Lalo. Balada was already saddled, along with Hadya, a chesnut mare. The patrón and Lucas, one of the trainers, were standing by, rictus smiles on their faces.

Lalo waved him over and gestured at Hadya. “You like her, yeah?”

Ciro nodded. He was surprised Lalo remembered.

“I want to ride the trails and need a guide,” Lalo continued. “I thought you’d be just the man for it.”

Ciro glanced at Hernández, who gave a nod, his face still stretched in that painful grin. “I hope you have a pleasant ride, señor.”

“I’m sure we will.” Lalo turned to Lucas. “Hey, Ciro needs a hat.”

Lucas blinked at him, bewildered. Lalo snapped his fingers impatiently. “Come on, we don’t have all day.”

Slowly, Lucas took the hat off of his head and handed it to Ciro. Just as slowly, Ciro accepted it and put it on. He hoped Lucas wouldn’t hold it against him.

Lalo flicked the brim and grinned. “It looks good on you. Let’s get going!”

They mounted the horses and set off, with Ciro leading. It was true he knew the trails, but not as well as the boss or one of the trainers did. Why did Lalo want him? He had a guess, but even the thought of it set his face ablaze. No. It couldn’t be true. There had to be some other reason. Still, the way he had touched him…

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Ciro startled. The trail had widened, and Lalo had moved up beside him.

Ciro scrambled for something to say. “It’s a nice day,” was what he finally came up with, and cringed at how trite it sounded. At least it was true—a few fat, white clouds drifted through the bright blue sky, and a gentle breeze cut the heat of the sun.

“It is. I love the spring.” He tipped his head to the sky and inhaled. “And there’s just this smell in the air—I can’t quite describe it. Fresh. Filled with the promise of new beginnings.”

Ciro didn’t know how to respond, so he just nodded.

“So tell me about yourself. You got any family?”

Why did he want to know? “Yes. I live with my mother, grandmother, and my sisters.”

“How many sisters?”

“Three. Two little ones, and then Rosa, who’s a year younger than me.”

“No father or brothers?”

“No. My dad and my younger brother were killed about six years ago—bystanders in a shoot-out. And my older brother disappeared a year after that.” Ciro swallowed, not sure if he should continue. “We think he got involved with a gang.”

Lalo didn’t respond for a few minutes. “So you’re the man of the house, eh?” he finally said.

“I guess so.” He didn’t feel like the man of the house—his job at the ranch didn’t pay much. It was mostly his mother and sister’s incomes that kept them afloat. “We take care of each other.”

Lalo nodded, seeming thoughtful. “There’s nothing more important than family. Although we don’t get to choose our family.” He gave him a look out the corner of his eye. “You know who my family is, don’t you?”

No use in denying it. “Yeah.”

“And you came out here with me anyway. Aren't you scared of me? Everyone else at your ranch is."

“No,” Ciro said honestly. He knew he should be, but it was hard to fear someone who serenaded you on your birthday.

Lalo’s face broke out into a wide grin. “Good.” He turned his attention back to the trail. “I lost my father and brothers, too,” he said. “Also to violence. I was about your age when my dad was murdered. My brothers made sure to get their pound of flesh in revenge. In return, our enemies claimed theirs. All four of my brothers, dead. And then the Salamancas retaliated, and they retaliated, on and on…” He shook his head. “And here I am now, negotiating with the bastards. It’s got to stop at some point—bad for business for both sides.”

Ciro wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry.”

Lalo shrugged. “The gringos need their drugs. What’s a little blood when there’s so much money to be made?” His tone was uncharacteristically bitter.

They lapsed into silence, which Lalo broke. “My mother is dead, too—cancer, six months ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Ciro said again, feeling stupid and wishing he had something better to say. Why was Lalo telling him this? Just making conversation? But it was all so personal. This wasn’t how he thought it would be. Then again, he hadn’t had any idea what to expect.

“It’s not that I don’t have family,” Lalo continued. “I have my aunts and uncles, and my cousins. My abuelita is still around, too. But it isn’t the same. None of them are _home_ , the way my brothers and my mother were. There’s no one who is home to me anymore.”

Lalo stared ahead in silence, his expression blank. Then he shook his head and turned to Ciro with a grin. “Listen to me! It’s a beautiful day and I’m wallowing. That’s not what I came out here to do.” He picked up his reins. “Let’s fly, pájarito! _”_ He urged Balada forward into a canter. Ciro followed.

The ride worked its magic, as it always did for Ciro, focusing his mind on the present and quieting his chattering mind. But they slowed down eventually as they came to a shaded spot by a stream, and Ciro’s mind picked back up. What did Lalo expect from him? Was he supposed to share something about himself, too? Say something comforting? Just listen?

Lalo pulled up on the reins and stopped. “Let’s take a break. I had a lunch packed for us.”

They dismounted and got the horses settled. Lalo pulled out a blanket from his saddlebag and spread it on the ground. Lunch was in Ciro’s bag—nothing fancy, just sandwiches and some fruit. Ciro brought it to the blanket and sat down beside Lalo. The ground was rocky and uneven, and the blanket was not very big. Ciro felt his face grow hot as he tried to get comfortable. He hoped Lalo didn’t notice.

Lalo took off his hat, so Ciro did too, setting it on the blanket beside him. Ciro wracked his mind for something to say as they ate, although Lalo seemed fine with the silence. A dove fluttered down and lit on the branch of tree, cooing for a moment before flitting off again.

After Lalo finished eating, he lay back on his elbows with a sigh and gazed up at the sky. “Blue as topaz,” he said. “You don’t see these kinds of skies in the city.”

“It must be lonely for you,” Ciro blurted out, and then blushed. It was such a weird reply to Lalo’s observation, but that’s what he’d come up with in their silence.

Lalo pushed himself up and gave Ciro a look he couldn’t read. “It is,” he said, his voice low. He moved a little closer, his gaze lowering to Ciro's lips. “I’d like to kiss you, Ciro.”

Ciro’s heart beat so hard and fast he thought it might shake him apart. He opened his mouth to make some reply. “Why?” was what came out.

He thought Lalo would laugh at him, but he didn’t. “Why? Because sometimes I want to fly away too.” He ran a finger along Ciro’s cheek. “Will you take me with you, pájarito?”

What to say? He wanted to reply, but blood was rushing in his ears and his throat had gone dry. Slowly, Lalo leaned in, giving Ciro plenty of time to pull away. But he didn’t want to. Not that he could have anyway—he felt rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but hold himself together as Lalo’s lips met his. Ciro stayed frozen for a few stunned moments, and then a shock of arousal hit him like a lightning bolt. He gasped.

Lalo pulled back, a question in his eyes, but Ciro surged forward and crashed their mouths together. Lalo let out a pleased rumble and put his arms around Ciro, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

Never, never had Ciro felt this way. He’d had one or two chaste kisses with girls in high school that only confirmed what he already knew. And once high school was over, he lacked the courage to go looking for men who might feel the same way as him. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to—risking the acceptance of his family and society for a few moments of pleasure seemed like a bad trade-off.

But now in Lalo’s arms, every last doubt was burned away. He loved the hard angles of him, the way his mustache brushed against his skin, the strength of his embrace. It was everything he didn’t dare even dream of. His whole body had been set ablaze.

He wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but it became overwhelming—his heart was pounding too hard, and his head swam. He pulled away with a gasp. “I’m sorry.”

“You okay?” There was real concern in Lalo’s eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve just—I never—”

A smile played on Lalo’s lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been kissed before.”

Ciro shook his head. “Not like that.”

Lalo threw his head back and laughed. Ciro laughed too, although it came out shaky. When Lalo’s laughter faded, Ciro leaned in for another kiss, gentler this time. Lalo indulged him, but all too soon pulled away. “I think that’s enough for today,” he said.

Ciro wanted to argue, but Lalo was right. He already felt like he might combust.

Lalo grabbed his hat and stood. Ciro did the same. Once Ciro was on his feet, Lalo put his hands on Ciro’s hips and leaned their foreheads together. “Come riding with me this this weekend. We’ll make a whole day of it, and then I’ll take you out to dinner.”

“I work on Saturday,” he said.

“Then we’ll go Sunday.”

Ciro bit his lip. His family always spent Sunday together. “I couldn’t get here,” he said. “Jorge gives me a ride in.”

“Then I’ll come pick you up.”

Ciro’s heart fluttered. “Okay.” Like there was ever any doubt of his answer.

Lalo gave him a quick kiss before heading over to the horses. Ciro joined him, and soon they were back on the trail, Lalo leading this time. Ciro’s head spun—had that really happened? Lalo looked back over his shoulder and smiled, his gaze heated. Not a dream—it just felt like one.

They didn’t say much on the ride back, but it didn’t feel awkward anymore. Ciro was able to settle back and just enjoy the ride—it really was a beautiful day. A hawk circled above them. Ciro wondered what it must feel like, to be so high above everything, with so much power and freedom.

Suddenly, the hawk made a sharp dive. It grabbed a passing dove right out of the sky and flew off.

Lalo laughed. “Bad luck for the bird!”

Ciro winced. He hoped the poor thing hadn’t suffered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm getting a better grip on what's going on with Lalo here - it's shifted a little bit from my original conception. He's still a no good very bad person, but it's a little more complicated.
> 
> And I promise I am still working on Reign in Hell lol.


	4. Beware Narcos Bearing Gifts

Sunday came. His family took the bus into town in the morning for Mass, as usual. Ciro could barely sit through it, he was so excited. He’d told his family that the rich guy who bought Balada had asked Ciro to show him the trails. Which was true. His grandmother and mother seemed to take it at face value, but Rosa was less convinced.

“So is he paying you?” she asked as they walked home from the bus stop. He and Rosa were so close in age and looked so alike that people used to mistake them for twins when they were younger, before Ciro had his growth spurt. The physical was where their similarity ended. Rosa was sharp where Ciro was soft.

“No,” Ciro said.

“Then why are you doing it?”

He shrugged and tried to sound casual. “I don’t know. He’s nice.”

“Nice,” Rosa echoed. “The guy who made Hernández sell Balada? Who wouldn’t take no for an answer?”

“Maybe I exaggerated a little,” he said. “You know money has been tight at the ranch. He just probably offered a lot and Hernández felt like he couldn’t pass it up.”

Rosa made a noncommittal noise. Ciro hoped that would be the end of it, but then she asked, “But why you? I mean—the ranch employs trail guides, right? Why doesn’t your rich guy just hire one of them?”

Ciro rubbed his neck. “I don’t know. We got to talking. I guess he likes me.” His voice grew softer. “I like him too.”

Rosa stopped in her tracks. “You _like_ him?”

Ciro stopped, too, his heart pounding. “Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” He’d never told her that he wasn’t like other boys—he’d never told _anyone_. Had she figured it out?

She stared at him for a long moment. “How old is he?”

Ciro thought of the silver streak in Lalo’s hair and the lines etched in his face. “I don’t know. Thirty-five, maybe?” He was sure he was only off by a few years. And what was two, or three, or four years, really? Shave a few from Lalo’s age and add a couple to Ciro’s, and the gap narrowed to something manageable, instead of the gaping maw of the reality—twenty years between them, at least.

Rosa shook her head. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Well, you don’t have to like it,” he snapped. “I’m going out for a day of riding.” Inspiration struck him. “He probably just feels sorry for me because I told him how much I love to ride, and how I don’t get a chance to do it very often. I told you, he’s a really nice guy.”

Rosa still looked skeptical. She opened her mouth to retort, but then their mother called for them to stop dawdling. They hurried to catch up.

Once they were home, they changed out of their church clothes and settled into their usual Sunday routines. Mamá was a religious woman who took the Sabbath seriously, and so none of them ever worked on Sundays. Ciro loved it usually—a day to relax with his family. But today he couldn’t settle down to enjoy the lunch his mother made, or play with his little sisters, or pick up a game of cards with his grandmother. He kept checking the clock and looking out the window—Lalo said he’d be by at one.

At 1:25, a bright red classic convertible pulled up to the house. Ciro leapt up and headed for the door. “My ride’s here! See you all tonight.”

“Have fun,” his mother said absently as she washed dishes. Rosa, who had been in their room, came into the living room.

“Be careful,” she said.

Ciro tried not to roll his eyes.

He opened the door, expecting that Lalo was waiting in the car for him, but was surprised to find that Lalo had parked and was getting out. In his hands he held a bouquet of flowers and a large bag. Ciro froze in place and blinked. He’d brought him flowers?

Lalo approached, his usual grin on his face. “Hey, Ciro! Can I come in?”

Ciro’s heart began to race. What was happening? He couldn’t think of a reason to refuse him, so he mutely stepped aside.

Lalo brushed past him. “Good afternoon, ladies!” he said brightly. His mother turned from her dishes and looked as confused as Ciro felt. His grandmother shut off the TV.

“Good afternoon, señor,” his mother said as she dried her hands.

Lalo shook his head. “No, not señor! I’m Eduardo, but you can call me Lalo.” He turned to his grandmother. “For the lady of the house,” he said, giving her the bouquet.

Never in Ciro’s life had he seen his grandmother blush. She shyly accepted. “Thank you, señor.”

“It’s Lalo, remember?” He reached into his bag and pulled out a small gift wrapped in shimmering white paper, tied with a gold ribbon and bow. “This is for you as well.”

She accepted it eagerly. As she pulled at the ribbon, Lalo produced another box and crossed the room to Mamá. “And for you!”

Hesitantly, she accepted it. She undid the bow and tore off the paper, then opened the box. She pulled out a colorful silk scarf. Her expression remained puzzled. “Thank you, señ—Lalo.”

His grandmother was still having trouble with hers, so Lalo returned to her side. He pulled a switchblade from his back pocket. It opened with a swish and glinted in the light. “Allow me,” he said, and he cut the ribbon. She opened it the rest of the way and pulled out a scarf similar, but not identical, to his mother’s. She let out a cry of delight. “How beautiful!”

“A beautiful scarf for a beautiful lady,” Lalo said with a wink and again she blushed. Lalo turned last to Rosa. “And you must be Rosa.” He handed her a gift.

Instead of accepting it, she crossed her arms. “Why are you giving us gifts?”

“Ciro is doing me a favor by showing me around while I’m in town,” Lalo said smoothly. “He wouldn’t accept money, so it’s the least I can do to show my gratitude.” Lalo shot him a look, and Ciro nodded, agreeing with the lie. But why lie at all? It was a little strange.

Lalo shook the box. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging!”

For a heart-stopping moment, Ciro thought she would refuse him. But then she reluctantly accepted the gift, although she didn’t open it.

Lalo grinned in triumph and turned away from her. “Now, where are the little ones? I haven’t forgotten about them!”

“They’re in the back yard,” his mother said. “I’ll go get them.”

While Lalo’s back was turned, Rosa caught Ciro’s eye and mouthed, _Thirty-five?_ Ciro shrugged helplessly.

His mother returned shortly with the girls. Lalo crouched down. “Ciro told me he had two very special little sisters. That's you?”

The girls nodded. Lalo reached into his bag and pulled out two beautiful dolls. His sisters’ faces lit up with delight, but they looked to their mother first.

“Go ahead," she said. She had relaxed, and was even smiling a little.

They rushed forward and each took a doll. It had been a long time since he’d seen them so happy.

“Thank you, señor!” they said in chorus. 

Lalo grinned. “Call me Tío Lalo.”

Rosa made a sound of disgust and left the room. Lalo stood up and frowned in her direction.

“Thank you, Lalo,” Ciro said quickly, hoping to distract him. “It’s been such a long time since the girls had new toys.”

Lalo’s smile returned. “No problem. Like I said, it’s the least I can do. And don’t think I’ve forgotten you!” Lalo reached into the bag for the last time and pulled out a cowboy hat, much like his own only brown. Instead of handing it to him, he put it on Ciro’s head. “There! It suits you. Wouldn’t you say so, Abuelita?” he said to his grandmother.

“Oh yes,” she said with enthusiasm. She was wearing the scarf. “Very handsome!”

“Exactly so.” Lalo winked at him. Ciro lowered the brim of his hat, hoping to hide his blush.

Lalo gestured with his head to the door. “Shall we?”

They said their goodbyes and left. Ciro got into the convertible; it was the nicest car he’d ever been in. He took his hat off and placed it beside him so that it wouldn’t blow off. He ran his hands reverently over the smooth, bench-style seats.

“You like my car?” Lalo asked as he started the engine. It purred to life.

“Yeah.”

“1953 Cadillac Eldorado,” he said. “Restored it myself.”

He draped his arm over the seat as he backed out of the driveway. Ciro imagined himself sliding over and curling up by his side - maybe Lalo would put an arm around his shoulder... But he wasn’t brave enough to try it. “That was really nice of you, getting gifts for my family,” he said once they were on the road.

“My pleasure. Family is the most important thing. What’s with your sister, though?” He gave him a look out of the corner of his eye. “What did you tell her about me?” His tone was mild, but it still made Ciro’s stomach clench.

“Nothing!” Ciro said quickly as he tried to think of an answer. “I mean, I told her that you were the one who bought Balada. A rich guy, that’s all. She just doesn’t trust rich people.”

To Ciro’s relief, he laughed. “Fair enough. Or maybe she’s just looking out for her brother. Making sure you’re not being taken advantage of by a dirty old man.”

Ciro’s face heated. “You aren’t old.”

Lalo laughed again. “Maybe not. But older than you.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult—I can do what I want.”

Lalo rewarded that by giving Ciro’s thigh a quick caress. A stab of arousal pierced him.

Lalo returned his hand to the steering wheel. “And what do you want to do?”

A thousand desires flashed through his mind, forceful as water from a broken dam, overwhelming and impossible to articulate. “I don’t know,” was what he ended up saying, feeling young in spite of his protestations otherwise.

Lalo chuckled. “Well, you let me know when you figure it out.”

Ciro bit his lip and decided to get brave. He slid over until he was at Lalo's side. Lalo put an arm around his shoulders, just like Ciro imagined he would, and kissed his temple. Ciro smiled so hard his face hurt. He probably looked like an idiot, but Lalo was smiling too, and he winked at him again and Ciro thought he might die right then and there. How had he gotten so lucky?

***

The horses were ready for them when they arrived. Hernández was there as well, that pained smile plastered on his face again. “Enjoy your ride, señor!” he called as Lalo mounted Balada. Before Ciro got on his horse, Hernádez put a hand on his shoulder. “Be careful on the trail,” he said quietly.

Ciro blinked. Did he suspect that there was something going on between them? Or was it just that Lalo was a notorious narco? Either way, it annoyed him. It’s not like he didn’t know who Lalo was.

“Come on, Ciro!” Lalo called from atop his horse. He was wearing his black hat again. “Let’s go!”

Ciro got on his horse, and off they went.

They arrived at the same spot they’d picnicked at earlier in the week—a rare piece of shade amidst the desert scrub. Their spot, Ciro thought with a little thrill. Lalo brought a more elaborate meal this time—slices of crusty bruschetta bread, thin cuts of cured meats, exotic cheeses that made Ciro wrinkle his nose, cherry tomatoes and basil drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, strawberries as red as rubies.

After they had eaten some, Lalo leaned in, bringing their faces close together. Ciro held his breath, waiting for a kiss, but Lalo pressed his lips to Ciro’s ear instead. “Lie back and close your eyes,” he murmured.

Ciro complied, trembling with anticipation. A moment later, something pressed at his lips—a strawberry. He laughed and opened his mouth and took a bite—it was so sweet and ripe that the juice dribbled down his chin. Another strawberry followed, and another, and then Lalo’s lips descended upon his. Ciro melted beneath him, his mouth falling open as Lalo licked his way inside.

Ciro moaned. He'd let him all the way inside if he could, have Lalo in the very center of him. Lalo pressed up against him; Ciro could feel the bulge of his desire against his hip, thick and hard. _I did that to him_ , Ciro thought with a flush. _He’s hard for me_.

Arousal surged through him, too fast and too much. Another minute and he’d come. He broke their kiss and rolled away with a gasp.

Lalo put a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? We can stop—”

“No!” Ciro nearly shouted. He evened his voice. “I mean, I don’t want to stop. I just—I’m really close to…” He couldn’t quite say it. His face burned. “I’m sorry.”

Lalo laughed, but not unkindly. “Why are you sorry? That’s very flattering.” His expression turned sly. “Do you want to come?”

Another surge. If he spoke, he was afraid his voice would break, so he just nodded.

Lalo reached for Ciro’s fly. A few quick movements and he had Ciro’s cock out, the head already dripping. He held his hand, palm out, to Ciro’s mouth. “Lick it,” he murmured. “Get it wet.”

Ciro obeyed, running his tongue over Lalo’s palm. After a few moments, Lalo took his hand away from his mouth and moved it to his cock. His toes curled as pleasure ripped through him.

He tried to hold back as Lalo stroked him, but Lalo’s touch was relentless. It was all over when Lalo captured his mouth in another kiss. Ciro’s hips lifted as orgasm overtook him. He cried out, but Lalo’s mouth muffled the sound. He kept kissing him, stroking him, as Ciro shot pulse and pulse. He felt almost battered by the pleasure, like being caught in a hurricane. He wrapped his arms around Lalo and held on to him for dear life.

At last, it was over. Ciro crashed back to earth, gasping for breath, but Lalo’s mouth was still on his, his moustache tickling his skin as he laughed into his mouth. Finally, Lalo pulled back, propping himself up on one elbow. He was grinning like the cat who caught the canary. “And how was that?”

Ciro wiped his eyes—where had those tears come from? He tried to say something, but tongue felt too thick to speak. Instead, he sat up and wrapped his arms around Lalo again, kissing him.

Lalo pulled back with a chuckle. “That good, huh?” He untangled himself from Ciro’s embrace and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his hand. When he was done, he used it to clean Ciro’s cock, too, before tucking it back into his pants and doing up the fly. He encourage Ciro to lie down and kissed him again, lazier this time, like he was savoring a fine wine. Ciro felt his cock against his hip again. He wanted to make Lalo feel as good as Lalo had made him feel, but he didn’t know what to do.

Ciro broke off their kiss. “Can I—I mean, what should I do for you?”

Lalo shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Next time.”

A small part of Ciro was relieved. His orgasm had muddled his mind, and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

Lalo brushed a finger over his face. “I can’t believe I found you here, right when I needed you. How did I get so lucky?”

He needed him? Ciro’s heart fluttered. “I’m the lucky one. Before you came, I didn’t think I’d ever…be with someone.”

Lalo’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean to tell me that you had resigned yourself to a lifetime of celibacy?” He laughed. “You really are lucky I came along, then! Why would you ever think that?”

Ciro’s face heated. “I’ve never met anyone else who was...you know, like me.”

“What, gay? It’s okay to say it, Ciro.”

Ciro’s face got even hotter. “Do people know about you?”

“I don’t announce it, but I don’t hide it either. I do what I want. When people have a problem with it…” He laughed. “Well, let’s just say their problems get a lot worse than worrying about who I fuck!”

A thrill shivered through him as he remembered who Lalo was. He imagined him wielding that switchblade and an equally sharp grin at anyone who dared to disrespect him.

It must have shown in his eyes, because Lalo’s expression became thoughtful. “You really don’t care who I am, even with after what happened to your father and brothers?”

Ciro thought of Raffa, the night before he left their lives for good. He’d been so angry. _There’s no good or bad, Ciro—not in this country. At least the cartels are honest—they are exactly who they say they are. The government, the federales—they’re the ones who fail us. When the law is corrupt, there’s no point in following it._ “My brother Raffa, the one who we think joined the cartel, always said that everything was so corrupt that there were no such thing as good guys or bad guys. It was unlucky what happened to my dad and brother, that’s all.”

“Sounds like he was a philosopher.”

Ciro bit his lip at the past tense. “We don’t actually know if he died.”

Lalo scratched his chin thoughtfully. “What’s your last name, and what cartel did he join?”

“De la Cruz. And I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar, but I’ll ask around.”

Ciro sat up, a smile spreading across his face. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course! Nothing’s more important than family.” He shook a finger. “Although your brother better have a good explanation for disappearing on you.”

Ciro’s smile faltered a little.

Lalo stretched dramatically. “You wanna hit the trail again?”

Ciro felt like rubber, but he nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Lalo got to his feet and held out a hand to Ciro. Ciro took it and let Lalo pull him up. He did it with surprising ease—Ciro wasn’t exactly small. Lalo pulled him in for one more kiss before turning to the horses. “Think about what you want for dinner. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

 _Anywhere you want to go._ Ciro liked the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've update the story notes and tags since I have a better idea where this is headed now. While Ciro and Lalo are still extremely doomed, I think there's hope for escape for Ciro at the end (with a little help from Ignacio Varga). But that's a way off - the roller coaster is just getting started. Hang on, Ciro! 😭


	5. You Shall Have All the Pretty Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lalo offers Ciro a proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special thanks to krokorobin, who let me keep him up past his bedtime to babble about this story and give me some encouragement. You're the best! 😘

Ciro requested “something nice” for dinner, letting Lalo interpret that however he wanted. Lalo took him to a fancy place in the city—probably not the fanciest, but still nicer than Ciro had ever been to. He felt like they were underdressed, but the waitstaff treated Lalo like a king, which meant that Ciro got the royal treatment too.

Afterward, Lalo drove him home, but not before pulling off the road to a secluded spot so they could make out in the car. When Lalo finally dropped him off around 11, Ciro practically floated into the house, his heart soaring like a bird on the wind. He hummed the ballad on the radio that had played as Lalo kissed and caressed him, murmuring how sexy Ciro was, how he set Lalo on fire, how he’d think of nothing else until he could see him again. His cock was still half-hard—he hoped Rosa wasn’t awake so he could finish himself off.

But she was. She accosted him the moment he stepped in the room. “ _Lalo Salamanca?_ ” she hissed.

Ciro crashed back to earth. “How did you find out?” He cursed himself as soon as the question was out of his mouth—there was no denying it now.

“I called Jorge.” She put her hands on her hips. “Really, Ciro? He’s not only old enough to be your dad, but he’s a fucking narco.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Quick as a flash, she got between him and the door and shut it. “Uh-uh. We’re talking about this.”

He fought the temptation to pick her up and move her—she was tiny and he was strong enough to do it. “So what? He just wants me to show him around. It’s not a big deal.”

She rubbed her temple. “Look, Ciro. I know, okay?”

Ciro folded his arms around himself and looked away. “Know what?”

“That you’re…you know, gay. And it’s fine!” she added in a rush before Ciro could say anything. “I was hoping that you’d tell me on your own terms. But since you’ve decided to fuck a narco, I guess we have to talk about it now.”

Ciro’s face heated. “He didn’t—I mean, we didn’t—”

Rosa raised her eyebrows. “You give yourself that hickey?” When Ciro clapped a hand over his neck, she sighed. “You don’t actually have a hickey.”

Ciro slumped, defeated. “Have you told Mamá?”

“About my suspicions about what you two were really doing? No. I wouldn’t do that to you. But I will tell her that he’s a Salamanca. You invited him into our house. She has the right to know—we all do.”

“I’ll keep him out. You won’t have to see him again.”

“That isn’t the issue! He’s dangerous. We lost two brothers and our father to the cartel.” Her voice softened. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

Ciro stuck out his jaw. “Papá and Mateo were bystanders in a shoot-out. I’m not in any more danger of that than I was before. And we don’t know that Raffa’s dead.”

She threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “Of course he’s dead! This is your problem, Ciro—you never want to face reality. Get your head out of the clouds and come down to Earth with the rest of us!”

It felt like a slap. Tears pricked his eyes. He retreated to his bed and started to take off his boots. “I need to get some sleep.”

Rosa ran a hand through her hair and muttered a curse under her breath before sitting on the bed beside him. “Look, I suck at being tactful. But it’s true. You need to open your eyes. He’s taking advantage of you—”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he interrupted. “Do you know how lonely I am, all the time? You could get a date whenever you want, but there’s no one here for me. Until he showed up, I didn’t think I’d ever be with anyone.”

“You’re right, I don’t know what it’s like.” She bit her lip. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone yet, but I’ve applied for some scholarships, and I think that there’s a good chance I’ll get one. If I do, you could come with me to the city.”

Ciro snorted. “Maybe you can get a scholarship, but my grades were awful.”

“You wouldn’t have to go to school—you could get a job. If we live together, we can keep costs down. And I’m sure there are plenty of guys for you there.”

But Ciro didn’t want other guys. He wanted Lalo.

When he didn’t respond, Rosa sighed. “Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” he said to get her to leave him alone. He stood. “I’m going to take my shower now.”

When he got back, Rosa was lying in bed. He wasn’t sure if she was asleep or not. He got into bed too. Just when he was about to drift off, Rosa spoke again. “I love you, tonto. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he said softly. “I love you too.” He paused. “We actually did go riding today. And he didn’t try to…you know. All he wants to do is kiss me—don’t you think he’d want more if he was just taking advantage of me? Besides, he’s leaving in a few weeks, anyway.” He’d been avoiding thinking about that unpleasant truth. Rosa wasn’t wrong about him running from reality, even if she was wrong about Lalo.

She didn’t respond. After a while, her breathing evened—she was asleep. It took Ciro a long time to follow her.

***

Two weeks passed. Lalo visited the ranch on Tuesdays and Thursdays to ride Balada, bringing Ciro with him every time. It drew stares from the other members of the staff. Jorge didn’t smile at him anymore when he picked him up, and their drives to work were quiet. Ciro didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything other than being with Lalo.

And Lalo wanted to be with him too. He swung by the house some nights to take him to dinner. His mother said nothing. Had Rosa told her who he was? Ciro wasn’t about to bring up the subject with either of them. Every time Lalo’s convertible pulled in the driveway, Rosa warned him not to go, but that was the extent of her power. He was a grown man, and she was his little sister. Only by a year, but there was no reason to take orders from her, or anyone else.

Maybe that’s why his mother didn’t say anything. She knew she couldn’t stop him.

And always after dinner, they’d find a secluded spot to park and fall into each other’s arms. Lalo drove Ciro wild with his hands and mouth, always bringing Ciro to an earthshaking climax. However, he never let Ciro return the favor. The first few times, Ciro had been relieved. He didn’t know what he was doing and felt self-conscious. But that feeling faded, and now he was more than eager to take a more active role.

“Please,” Ciro said one night as he straddled Lalo’s lap. “Please let me touch you.”

Lalo nibbled his ear. “But you are touching me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do,” Lalo teased. “Do you mean my elbow? Or maybe my foot? I’m very ticklish, so I’d have to say no.”

He was going to make him say it. “No, your c-cock.” He punctuated that with a roll of his hips and was gratified when Lalo sucked in a breath. Christ, it felt so big against his ass, a thought that both thrilled and frightened him.

“Not tonight.”

Ciro nearly screamed. “Then when? I’m ready. I want to.”

“Want to what?”

Ciro groaned in frustration and rolled his hips again, mimicking what he wanted.

Lalo put his hands on his hips and held him still. “I’m not about to do anything with you if you can’t even say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” he said in a rush. His face burned.

In response, Lalo encouraged Ciro to move his hips as he thrust upward. Lalo kissed him and Ciro whimpered into his mouth—it felt so _good_.

But then Lalo stopped him again. “I’m afraid I can’t fuck you,” he said. Ciro's stomach clenched—had he done something wrong? Why didn’t Lalo want him? Before he could ask, Lalo gave him a sly grin and continued. “But I will make love to you.”

He let out his breath in a surprised puff of laughter. He leaned in for another kiss, and another, then sat back and pulled his shirt off. Their kisses got intense again, but when Ciro’s fingers started to fumble with Lalo’s shirt buttons, Lalo gently pushed his hands away. “But not tonight.”

“Why?” Ciro cried. His cock was so hard it ached.

“Because anticipation is the better part of pleasure,” Lalo said, laying a kiss on his neck. “I want to take my time with you. Make it special.” He ran his hands over Ciro’s bare back. “Believe me, it will be worth the wait.”

They kissed some more, but Lalo kept the pace slow, his kisses and caresses lazy. Ciro thought he’d lose his mind. Tears of frustration pricked his eyes. “But you’ll be gone soon!” he blurted out, and then his eyes teared up more. Lalo was leaving. He’d avoided thinking about it as much as he could, but the cold reality of it slammed into him now. He put his arms around Lalo and rested his forehead on his shoulder, willing himself not to cry.

“Hey now, no sad songs, _mi pájarito_ ,” Lalo said, gently encouraging him to sit up. He wiped a tear away with his thumb. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

Ciro sniffed. “What do you mean?”

“Balada will be my third horse. I could really use someone to look after them.”

Ciro blinked. “You want me to work for you?”

“What I want,” Lalo said, pulling him in for another kiss, “is to bring you home. You’d love it there. Acres of land in the beautiful countryside, an endless blue sky, and you could ride a horse for miles and not come across another soul. It’s my sanctuary, my paradise.” He grinned. “I even have a little love nest for you—a little cottage in the back of my property, right by the stables. All those horses—they’d be yours as much as mine.”

Ciro’s head swam. “I-I don’t know. My family needs my wages—”

“I’ll pay you, of course—way more money than you’ll ever make shoveling shit for that ranch.”

There were probably a million reasons why it was a terrible idea, but he couldn’t think of a single one while he was in Lalo’s arms.

“Don’t answer me yet,” Lalo said before Ciro could say anything. “Just think about it.” He patted his ass. “Now get in the back seat, and I’ll take care of you.”

Ciro clambered into the back seat, with Lalo close behind him. He helped Ciro out of his pants until he was completely naked and lying on his back in the moonlight. Ciro flushed. This was a first—Lalo usually just undid his fly.

Lalo’s eyes raked over every inch of his exposed skin. “Oh yes,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I am going to enjoy you.” He got on top of him and wedged his thigh between Ciro’s legs, encouraging Ciro to rub himself against it as he captured his mouth in a kiss. The denim was rough against his sensitive skin, but he relished that roughness. It was a pale imitation of what Ciro really wanted, but Lalo got him off all the same. Lalo pulled away as his orgasm hit so that he came on his own stomach instead of all over Lalo’s jeans.

While he panted through the aftermath, Lalo cleaned him off with his handkerchief. “You are beautiful when you come.” He kissed him. “But then again, you’re beautiful all the time.”

Ciro blushed. “Do you really want me to come live with you?”

“Of course I do! I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

His heart fluttered. “My answer is ye—”

Lalo put a finger against his lip, shushing him. “You need think for a little longer than fifteen minutes, Cirito. I want you to be sure. Because once I have you, I’m not going to let you go.” He laughed.

Ciro did too, feeling giddy. A way out of this forsaken little town, _and_ he got a whole stable full of horses, _and_ he got to be with the man of his dreams? Could he get any luckier?

 _He’s a narco_ , a voice that sounded a lot like Rosa’s said in the back of his mind. _And you’ve only known him two weeks._

He shook his head, dislodging the thought. What were his other options? Stay here forever? Work in some hellish job in the city while Rosa secured her future? He wasn’t smart like her, or ambitious. Lalo was offering him everything he could ever want. He’d be a fool not to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Ciro. You poor, sweet thing. 
> 
> Next up, Ciro gets to see Lalo in action. Will it scare him away? (Spoiler - no.)
> 
> And as you may have noticed, the chapter count has increased by two. Pray for me that it doesn't get any longer!


	6. The Sharp Blade of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciro sees Lalo in action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW - homophobia. "Maricón" is a Spanish homophobic slur.

Lalo took Ciro out to dinner that Saturday and wanted to gift Ciro with a new outfit before they went. It seemed a little over-the-top, but he wasn’t going to complain. Because in order to give him the clothes to change into after their usual ride, Lalo took him to his home.

Or not his home—at least where he was staying. It was a chic townhouse on the outskirts of the city, everything in it sleek and modern. He felt like he didn’t belong, sitting on the black leather couch in the living room while Lalo went upstairs to retrieve the clothes.

“This place is amazing,” Ciro said when Lalo emerged with the clothes draped over one arm and a pair of shoes in the other hand. He himself was dressed in a black shirt with a floral pattern.

Lalo made a face. “Too city for me. I’m more of a country guy myself.” He handed him the clothes. “Go on, get changed.”

Ciro went to the bathroom and got dressed. The shirt Lalo chose for him was a blue button-up with no pattern, unlike the busier shirts he favored. It was the nicest piece of clothing he'd ever worn. The fabric was so soft against his skin, and it fit like it was made for him. The pants were the same. Only the shoes weren’t quite right, pinching at his toes. He gave himself a quick look in the mirror and was surprised at his reflection. He looked expensive.

Lalo whistled when he came out of the bathroom. “You clean up good, Cirito!” He ran his hands along Ciro’s shoulders and down his arms. “I knew the blue would suit you. Like a summer sky, yeah?”

“You look good, too.” He leaned in for a kiss. Lalo obliged him, but only for a moment. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“Can’t we just stay here?” Ciro was a little embarrassed at the whine in his voice.

Lalo laughed. “Come on, man, I got a reservation! And I want tonight to be special for you.”

Ciro’s mouth went dry. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” Lalo pulled him in for another brief kiss. “Let’s go have dinner. And then I’ll bring you home and have you for dessert.”

Ciro’s cock swelled. He dug his fingernails into his palms to stave off his arousal—if Lalo wanted to wine and dine him, he’d play along. He’d do anything Lalo wanted.

Lalo took him to a steakhouse. The steaks were extra rare at Lalo’s insistence; the meat bled when Ciro cut into it. He sipped at his glass of red wine—Lalo told him what kind but he forgot the next minute. He’d never had wine before—the only drinking he’d done was a few beers in high school. Sometimes he would imagine that if his dad survived and Raffa hadn’t gone away, they would have taken him out when he turned eighteen, shown him the ropes. But as it stood, neither his mother nor grandmother drank very much, and Rosa was too driven to party. He didn’t like the taste or the way it burned his throat and he had to force himself through the first glass. The second glass tasted better—or at least, he’d gotten used to it. An easy relaxation settled in him. He felt sophisticated, sitting in this fine restaurant, enjoying a meal and a glass of wine with his…well, boyfriend didn’t seem like the right word. Lover, maybe? It made his cheeks heat to think of it. He wondered if he’d stop blushing so much once he wasn’t a virgin.

“So what would you do if you didn’t take my offer?” Lalo asked as they ate. “Stay with your job?”

Ciro shrugged. “I guess. For a little while, anyway.”

“You have a plan after that?”

“Well—my sister Rosa applied for a scholarship. If she gets it, she wants me to go with her, be her roommate.”

Lalo sipped his wine and studied Ciro. “So you’d go to school?”

“Oh no,” he said. “I could never do school. I’m a terrible student. I’d get a job.”

“Doing what?”

Ciro shrugged again. “I’m sure I’d find something. But—” He bit his lip.

“But?” Lalo asked when Ciro didn’t continue.

Lalo’s gaze made him nervous, so he shut his eyes. “It’s her plan, not mine. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up, but going to the city to get a job was never on my list. I hate the city. I want to be in the country where the horizon isn’t cluttered, with no ugly noises and smog. I want birds instead of sirens, horses instead of cars.”

He opened his eyes again to find Lalo gazing at him in fascination, a half-smile on his lips. “A very pretty song, _mi_ _pájarito_. I’ll drink to that.” He held out his wine glass. Ciro clinked it to his, and they both drank.

Lalo finished his glass and wiped his lips with a napkin. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get out of here.” His eyes sparkled.

“Yes,” Ciro agreed quickly, his heart fluttering.

After Lalo settled the bill, they left. Ciro could barely contain himself—his cock was half-hard already. His stomach fluttered too, but he wasn’t scared. He trusted Lalo. He wanted him so badly. Lalo smiled at him, and he smiled back.

They got in the car. But just as Lalo was about to turn the ignition, his cell phone rang. Irritation flashed over his face as he answered it. “This had better be really fucking important.” Silence as he listened, and then, “So what, they’re just sitting there? They haven’t approached you?” More silence. “No—don’t do shit until I get there. Be there in ten.” He ended the call.

Ciro’s heart sank. Was tonight canceled? “Is everything okay?”

Lalo rubbed his mouth. “Yeah, it’s fine. Just cartel drama.” He gave Ciro a considering look. “Listen, it’s probably nothing—I told you I was here to strike a deal, right? So the deal has been struck, but some of their guys were not happy about it. Lots of bad blood, like I said, and not everyone wants to be reasonable. So my men are at their usual drinking spot, and these unhappy guys just showed up. They’d be stupid to try and start something—but there are a lot of really fucking stupid people in the drug business. So I need to make an appearance, make sure everyone plays nice.” He patted Ciro’s knee. “I’m so sorry, Cirito. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

 _No!_ Ciro didn’t know if he could last another night. “You said you just had to make an appearance, right? I could come with you.”

Lalo looked surprised. “You don’t mind?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Lalo grinned. “You know how to play pool?” When Ciro shook his head, his grin broadened. “Then I’ll teach you. This might even be fun!”

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to a dive bar. It looked exactly like the kind of place where cartel thugs might hang out—seedy and ill-lit. Ciro’s shoulders hunched, but Lalo seemed as relaxed as ever. Was it an act to cover his nerves? Or maybe it was like he said—not a big deal, and he was just there as precaution.

Lalo entered with a flourish. There were two groups of men, one on each side of the bar. “Hey, guys!” Lalo said, waving to one group.

Every eye in the place turned on them. Ciro fought the urge to hide behind Lalo. His men greeted him back and waved him over. From the other end of the bar, another group of men glowered. Lalo gestured with his head to Ciro. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Ciro swallowed. He hadn’t really thought this through—would anyone suspect that he was Lalo’s…? He couldn’t finish the thought. But Lalo had said he didn’t hide, and no one ever gave him any trouble. Or not exactly—he said that he made people regret it if they tried. But Ciro was being foolish. Lalo’s men had called him for help. Everyone in the bar had more pressing matters on their minds than Lalo’s new, young friend.

They crossed the room. They were a hard-looking bunch, all tattoos and muscles and gold chains. Lalo exchanged hand shakes and back pats, still relaxed and smiling as if he were just dropping by for the hell of it. Ciro tried to match his energy but probably wasn’t successful. His stomach was in knots.

Lalo put a hand on Ciro’s shoulder. He tried not to tense up. How would Lalo introduce him? “This is my friend Ciro,” was all he said. Then he rattled off the names of his men—there were six in total, but Ciro forgot every name as soon as Lalo finished. The men all nodded to him. Nobody seemed hostile—in fact, they didn’t seem much interested in him at all. Their attention was on the rival gang, who were glaring at them and murmuring darkly.

Beers were fetched, and one was pressed into Ciro’s hands. He drank it eagerly, ignoring the sour taste. The wine from earlier had worn off a little and he was eager to get that relaxed feeling back. Hopefully this would all be over with soon.

“So,” Lalo said to his men, his voice a little lower than before. “They try anything yet?”

“No,” said a bald man with a giant heart tattoo on his shoulder. “Just came into our bar to fucking stare at us. Think they’re here on orders?”

Lalo scratched his chin. “Nah, man. Alverez is going to be pissed if they start shit—he was the one who wanted a ceasefire. But Blanco over there—he’s been stirring the pot ever since. Been a pain in the ass.”

“What do we do?”

“We do nothing. Have a good time, pretend it doesn’t bother us. So long as we’re not the ones to break the peace, we’re honoring our part of the deal.” Lalo bared his teeth in a grin. “But if they start something, we finish it. And maybe Blanco doesn’t walk away from this.”

The men all smirked and exchanged looks. The knots in Ciro stomach got worse. He peered over at the rival cartel. They were all congregating around one particularly large, nasty-looking guy with a scarred face—Blanco, presumably. Hopefully he would behave.

Lalo put a hand on Ciro's shoulder again. “Hey, don’t look so nervous, yeah? We’re just here to have a good time. Try to loosen up a little.”

Ciro let out a shaky breath and tried to smile. “Okay.”

For the next hour, nothing much happened. Ciro downed one beer, and then another. The guy with the heart tattoo, whose name turned out to be Angel, got a round of shots. The first one made Ciro nearly puke, but the second went down easier. With every drink, a little more of his tension melted away. He actually felt really good. The guys were all surprisingly nice to him. Angel even started up a conversation about horses with him, once it came out that was how he and Lalo met. And Lalo seemed like he was in a good mood, laughing and joking around. Surely if something bad was going to happen, he’d be more tense.

In fact, Lalo was so relaxed that he started to get a little handsy. He came up to Ciro while he was talking with Angel and put a hand on the small of his back as he joined in the conversation. That hand drifted down a few times—casually, not a grope, exactly. Maybe Lalo didn’t even realize he was doing it. And Lalo was touching everyone a lot—slaps on the back, random shoulder squeezes. It seemed to be his style. And no one was acting like it was weird. Maybe it was fine.

Except after Angel went to talk to someone else, Lalo sat down and pulled Ciro into his lap. “Just a little while longer and I’ll have you in my bed,” he whispered in his ear.

Ciro blushed furiously. Was Lalo drunk? He’d only seen him have a beer, maybe a shot. Ciro certainly had more than him. In fact, it was starting to hit him a little harder. The good feeling he had shifted, and now he felt dizzy and confused. He looked around at Lalo’s men, but no one was paying attention. In fact, they seemed to be purposefully not looking at them. But that wasn’t true for the men on the other side of the bar. They were staring at them, their gazes hard and cold.

Ciro squirmed out of his lap. “Lalo, people are watching,” he whispered.

Lalo just grinned. “How about that game of pool?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ciro mumbled.

Lalo stood and looked over at their rivals—and winked.

Ciro blinked. Had he imagined that?

The pool table was closer to the center of the bar. Lalo set up the balls and sent Ciro after the cue sticks. He kept his gaze locked on his task, but he could still feel the eyes of Blanco and his crew on him.

Back to the pool table. Lalo explained the rules and made the first move. Ciro tried to copy him, but the alcohol made him clumsy. He missed the cue ball. There were snickers Blanco’s crew. Or maybe he was imagining things. The world was hazy; Ciro couldn’t think.

“Here,” Lalo said, coming up behind him. “Let me show you how.” He helped Ciro line up his stick; he was practically melded to his back.

There was a loud noise from Blanco’s side of the room. “Disgusting Juárez _maricóns_!” Blanco spat.

Ciro froze, his head swimming.

“Why don’t you fly over to our guys, _pájarito?_ ” Lalo said in his ear before stepping away from him. Ciro didn’t have to be told twice—he fled across the room, nearly tripping in the process, but would it be any safer over there? And Lalo—what would they do to him? Shame ripped through him—he’d run away like a coward, leaving Lalo to face them alone—

Except Lalo did not look the least bit afraid. He even looked amused. “You got something to say to me, Blanco?” he asked, almost casually.

“You heard me.” Blanco’s men gathered around him. “I told Alverez not to do business with you filth!”

“Is that so?” He smiled, all teeth. “I don’t think your boss would like to hear you undermining him like that.”

Blanco drew a switch blade. “And who’s going to tell him? Not you when I’m done.”

Lalo’s smile grew wider as he pulled out his own blade. “I was hoping you would say something like that.”

And then he leapt at them. Even though Blanco had already drawn his blade, Lalo’s attack still seemed to take him by surprise—he moved so fast it was almost inhuman. Lalo stabbed Blanco in the eye. As he screamed and staggered backward, Lalo pulled the knife out and rounded on one of his men, punching him first in the face, then the gut.

At that point, Lalo’s men rushed across the room to join the brawl, knives and guns drawn—all of them except Angel, who put a hand on Ciro shoulder.

“You stay here,” he said.

Ciro gaped at him. Had this been _planned?_

It was over surprisingly fast, with Blanco’s men retreating, probably because Lalo had taken out their leader so swiftly. Angel and Ciro crossed the room once they were gone. Lalo had Blanco on the ground, kneeling on top of him with one knee on each shoulder. He was laughing, his hair wild and his face streaked with blood—his? Someone else’s? Blanco moaned under him and struggled weakly.

“Hey, hold his arms,” Lalo said to a couple of his guys. He wielded his knife. “I’m gonna cut his tongue out. No, wait—Columbian necktie!” His men laughed their approval.

Ciro’s stomach lurched and his vision blurred. The world spun, and he staggered. Angel caught him before he fell over.

Lalo looked over to Ciro, and his smile faded. He got off Blanco. “Eh, never mind. Not worth the effort. Just take him out back and shoot him,” Lalo said to his men. His men grabbed his arms and dragged him moaning from the bar. A moment later, a shot rang out.

Lalo came over to Ciro, his eyes concerned. “You feeling okay, Cirito?” Like he hadn’t just been on top of a man, laughing at the prospect of slitting his throat and pulling his tongue through it. His vision went white—he was going to faint.

Lalo took over from Angel, swinging Ciro’s arm over his shoulder. “Hey, I’m going to take him home. You got things covered here?”

“Sure thing, patrón.”

Lalo practically dragged Ciro to the car and got him inside before getting in as well. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and made a face, and then took out his handkerchief and wiped the blood off. His gaze dropped to his shirt, which had been slashed. He sighed. “Those assholes. I really liked this shirt.”

Ciro had started to shake. His stomach roiled and everything was blurry.

Lalo touched his shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m okay, see? Barely a scratch.” He started the car. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Ciro tried to keep it together as they made their way down the road, but he felt like he’d shake apart. He curled up his legs and squeezed his eyes shut, which was a mistake. He saw Lalo stab Blanco again and again, saw him kneeling on top of him on the floor. All horrible enough, but the whole time he’d been laughing like he was having a wonderful time.

Ciro couldn’t claim ignorance. He’d known from the moment he met Lalo that he was a killer. And he’d liked the idea, felt excited by it, even. But it was one thing to know in the abstract and another thing to see it with his own eyes. God, he was so _stupid_.

“Ay, that was a mess, but for the good, overall,” Lalo said conversationally. “That asshole was determined to make trouble. Alverez probably would have killed him himself after he heard about this. And now I can play it up as the wronged party, maybe even get a couple more concessions…” No regret at all that a man had lost his life.

It was too much. Tears leaked out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks. A sob escaped him, and then he was crying in earnest.

Lalo looked over at him in alarm. “Nononono, Cirito, don’t cry!” He patted his leg. “Come on, _cariño_ , you’re alright!” But Ciro couldn’t stop.

Lalo turned his attention back to the road and rubbed his face—annoyed now, which made Ciro cry harder. His stomach lurched. “I’m gonna be sick,” he managed to choke out.

“ _Mierda!_ Don’t you dare throw up in my car!”

Lalo swerved off the road. Ciro barely made it out of the car before he puked, kneeling in the dirt on the side of the road. Lalo got out of the car and came around. Ciro blinked up at him through his tears—he looked disgusted. “How drunk are you?”

“I don’t know,” he moaned. “I’ve never—” He gagged and threw up again.

“You’ve never been _drunk? Jesucristo_ , Ciro, were you raised in a monastery?”

Ciro wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I wanna go home.”

Lalo snorted. “You think I’m taking you home to your mother in this condition? No, you’ll come sleep it off at my place.” He reached down and hauled Ciro to his feet, pushing him in the car.

Ciro managed to get enough control of himself to lower his sobs to whimpers. It seemed to Ciro that throwing up maybe should have sobered him a little, but the world spun faster instead. He shut his eyes, but it didn’t help. His thoughts started to spin too until they were hopelessly tangled. Lalo the lover. Lalo the killer. Lalo the lover-killer, Lalo the killer-lover…

The car stopped and then the door opened. Lalo got him out of the car and through the front door, then up the stairs. Lalo led him to the bed, and Ciro sat dully while he took off his shoes. Lalo went to the bathroom and returned a moment later with a glass of water, which he set on the nightstand.

“Try to drink some of that before you pass out,” he said.

Ciro’s heart sank. “Are you mad at me?” He sounded like a child.

Lalo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.” Then he was gone.

Obediently, Ciro drank some of the water, then lay down and shut his eyes. He couldn’t have stayed awake if he tried.

***

Ciro woke up the next morning with a raging headache and a mouth that felt like it had been stuffed with foul-tasting cotton. It took him a moment to piece together where he was and what had happened. It all seemed like a bad dream, all jumbled and blurred. His memory was fuzzy except for the horrible image of Lalo kneeling on top of that man, his knife drawn as he laughed and laughed. He wouldn't forget it as long as he lived.

Noises came from downstairs—it sounded like someone was in the kitchen. Lalo. His stomach clenched in dread. Because there was no way to read Lalo’s mood, he realized. He was just as happy having dinner with Ciro as he was slitting throats. Was he angry that Ciro disappointed him? What would he do to him if he was? Would he laugh all the while?

He wanted to crawl back into bed and hide, but he made himself get up. His old clothes had been laid out on the bed beside him. He picked them up and went to the bathroom. After getting dressed, he splashed his face with cold water and rinsed his mouth with some mouthwash. He wasn’t sure what to do with the clothes Lalo had given him. Were they a gift he was meant to keep? He didn’t know and had bigger things to worry about, so he just stuffed them in the hamper.

He crept downstairs and into the kitchen. Lalo was at the counter cutting vegetables and singing along quietly to a small radio. He turned around. “Hey, there he is!” His voice was gentle. “How are you feeling?”

Ciro eyed the knife in his hand and swallowed. “Okay,” Ciro lied.

“I’m making omelets and bacon—protein and grease is just the thing for a hangover. And of course, coffee.”

“Thanks.” Ciro wasn’t sure he could eat, but he would make an effort.

Lalo set his knife aside and turned to fully face him. “Hey, come here.”

Ciro forced himself to cross the room. Lalo cupped his face and kissed him. “Poor thing, you’re practically green. Go on, sit down—I’ll get a plate for you.”

Ciro did as he was told. Lalo brought him a cup of coffee and then started cooking the omelets. There was still fear in Ciro, but his heart ached too. He’d wanted to run away with Lalo. Part of him still did. Surely Lalo would never hurt him?

Lalo brought the plates over and slid one in front of Ciro. In spite of his sour stomach, it smelled good. He started with a small forkful. When his stomach didn’t rebel, he took another bite.

Lalo waited until Ciro had eaten half his plate. “Listen, Ciro. I’ve had a really good time getting to know you, but I think that maybe it’s best to end things here.”

Ciro’s stomach dropped. He’d been full of doubt just moments before, but the thought of it all being over just like that sent grief ripping through him. His future loomed in his mind—no more stable of horses just for him, no more beautiful country home, no more man of his dreams. Just the dull reality of some factory job while his sister built her life as he wasted his.

And really, if he thought about it…didn’t last night prove not only that Lalo would never hurt him, but that he would _protect_ him? He’d been thinking about this all wrong. “No, please—I overreacted! And I was drunk. I-I know better now. My answer is yes, I still want to go—”

“Ciro,” Lalo cut him off gently. “It’s not a good idea for you to come with me if you are so sensitive.” He sighed. “You’re young—I guess I didn’t appreciate how young, and that’s on me.”

Tears pricked his eyes—proof that Lalo was right. He was young, and sensitive, and so fucking stupid. He wiped his tears away furiously. “Lalo, please, I’m sorry. Give me another chance.”

Lalo took his hand and kissed it. “Hey now. No sad songs, _pájarito._ We’ve had a good time, yeah?” He let him go. “Finish your breakfast. And then I’ll take you home.”

What else could he do? He couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make him look even worse.

They rode in silence back to Ciro’s house. Lalo pulled into the driveway and turned to him. "Well, here we are. I guess I'll see you around.”

“So this is it? Just like that?” Ciro’s voice wavered. Lalo didn’t even seem sad.

“I’ll be by the stable later in the week to make arrangements for Balada.” He touched his cheek. “Hey. You’re a special guy, Ciro. You’ll be fine.”

“Will you kiss me good-bye at least?”

Lalo scratched his chin. “Not a good idea, right in front of your house.”

Ciro’s shoulders sagged. He was probably right. Although no one was home, it being Sunday morning.

Except that wasn’t true, because when he dragged himself into the house, Rosa was there. She flung her arms around him. “Ciro! I was so worried!” She pulled back and smacked him on the arm. “Don’t scare me like that, tonto! You could have at least called.”

Ciro rubbed his arm. “Why aren’t you at church?”

“I stayed in case you came home.” She took a good look at him for the first time. “What’s wrong?”

Ciro’s breath hitched. “He broke up with me.” And then he was crying, his shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Oh Ciro.” Rosa hugged him close. “I’m so sorry.”

“No you’re not,” he said between sobs. “You hate him.”

“Yeah, I hate him, and I’m sorry he broke your heart. That skunk-haired, creepy-ass cartel motherfucker.” She pulled him over to the couch and took him back in her arm, rocking him as he cried.

Eventually his sobs died down. “We’re going to make a future, you and me. You’ll forget all about him soon enough. And you’re going to find a great guy someday—someone who deserves you. Hell, if you want a weird old sugar daddy, I’m fine with that. Just not one that works for the cartel, okay?”

She was trying to make him laugh, but he couldn’t summon the energy to even try to laugh. His head still ached from the hangover, made worse now from his crying jag. He lay down with his head in her lap and tried not to give into despair.

Because Rosa was wrong. He’d never forget Lalo. He was the love of his life, and he’d lost him.

* * *

The next few days crawled by. He went to work, like usual. His coworkers were still treating him oddly—maybe they always would after this. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

News came in that Rosa had won the scholarship. It had been a very long time since his family had received good news—he couldn’t remember seeing his mother and grandmother so happy. He put on a good show of being happy for her, because he truly was. But then she started telling their mom her idea for taking Ciro with her, and they were all so excited and full of plans and it was hard to keep cheery for all of it.

Because he’d decided to turn her down. He’d just be miserable. What really made him happy was taking care of horses. He didn’t want to shovel stables forever, but he could start working toward becoming more. The boss liked him—if he showed some initiative, maybe he’d let him become a trainer. And maybe more would open up after that. His dream was to own his own stable one day. It could happen.

But it would involve so much work. It made him exhausted just to think about it.

On Thursday just after lunch, Lalo arrived to finish the deal with Balada. Ciro spotted Hernández and Lalo making their way toward Balada’s stall. His heart slammed against his ribcage, and he ducked into a stall to avoid them. Lalo passed by, not seeing him. He was uncharacteristically somber, his expression almost mournful.

Ciro bit his lip—was he heart-broken, too? He hadn’t seemed upset before. Maybe he realized that he’d made a big mistake?

Ciro hung around, waiting for them to finish talking. Finally, they made their way back toward the front office. Ciro screwed up his courage and stepped in front of them. “Señor Lalo, can I talk to you about something before you go?”

Hernández looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’ll go get the paperwork ready." He departed.

Ciro just stood there like a fool for a moment. God, he was so handsome. The memory of Lalo’s hands on his skin ghosted over him; he could almost feel Lalo’s lips pressed against his own.

Lalo crossed his arms. “Well? You wanted something?”

Ciro gestured toward an empty stall. Lalo followed him.

As soon as they were inside, Ciro launched himself at Lalo, throwing his arms around and kissing him. “Please take me with you,” he begged. “I’ll do anything, please.”

For a heart-stopping moment, Lalo said nothing. Then he embraced him. “Oh Ciro. I’ve thought of nothing but you. You’ve been haunting my dreams. I was such a fool to let you go.”

Ciro’s eyes teared. “So you’ll take me with you?”

“Yes, _pájarito._ Come fly home with me.” He hugged him, but then pushed him back and kept him at arms’ length. “But you must be sure, Ciro. I can’t bear to lose you again.”

He nodded emphatically. “I’m sure.”

Lalo laughed and grabbed Ciro, picking him up and twirling him around before kissing him again.

Joy swelled in Ciro’s heart, so intense he thought it might burst. “I love you, Lalo.”

Lalo’s eyebrows shot up. “You _love_ me?” His lips curled into a strange half-smile. “You sing the sweetest songs, don’t you?” he murmured. He cupped his face and drew him in for another kiss.

Lalo pulled away first. “I’ve got to finish up that paperwork, and then we’ll get out of here.”

“But I haven’t finished my shift.”

“You don’t work here anymore, remember? Now you belong to me.” He tweaked his ass and laughed.

Ciro laughed too. “Yes, yours, always.”

Ciro followed Lalo back to the office, but waited for him outside the office. His happiness dimmed a little as he thought about how he was going to have to tell his boss that he quit. It made him sad—he really liked it here. And this was going to look really weird—what would they all think?

At last, Lalo emerged with Hernández. Ciro cleared his throat. “Patrón, there’s something I need to tell you—”

“It’s already been taken care of,” Lalo interrupted. He headed towards the parking lot. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ciro held out his hand to his former boss. “Thank you for everything.”

He took it. “Take care of yourself, mijo.” He lowered his voice. “There’s always a job here for you if you need one.” The look he gave him was so sad—and afraid. Ciro felt a small twinge of unease in spite of himself.

“Ciro!” Lalo bellowed from the parking lot. “Get over here!”

Suddenly, Ciro realized he might not ever see this place again, or anyone who worked there. There were so many people he hadn’t said good-bye to. “Tell everyone I say good-bye, and-and that I enjoyed working with them—”

Lalo laid on his horn.

Hernández nodded and patted his hand. “I will.”

Ciro walked to Lalo’s car in a daze. Everything was happening so quickly. He got in the car.

Once he was seated, Lalo grabbed his chin—not too hard, but still firm. “Hey, don’t make me wait like that again, okay?”

Ciro blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Lalo let him go and flashed his teeth in a smile. “Don't worry about it. Now let’s get you home.”

“Yeah, I need to pack—”

“That can wait,” Lalo interrupted. “I meant take you to my place.”

Ciro’s unease was washed away by an almost overpowering wave of desire. “Oh yes,” he breathed. “ _Please_.”

Lalo laughed. “I love how sweetly you beg.” His voice dropped. “Tell me, when I have you naked in my bed, will you beg for my cock?”

Ciro flushed furiously as his cock went rock-hard. He could only nod.

Lalo pulled out of the parking lot. Once they were on the road, Lalo wrapped his arm around Ciro and pulled him closer as they drove, like the very first time Ciro had ridden with him. Ciro couldn’t stop smiling.

“I love you,” he said again.

Lalo squeezed him. “And you’re all mine now.”

Ciro laid his head on Lalo’s shoulder. “All yours,” he agreed with a sigh. He didn’t know it was possible to feel so happy.

But a very small part of him wondered why Lalo didn’t say he loved him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ciro - he's got a couple more chapters until he finally figures out that he's flown right into a cage. Lalo, you skunk-haired, creepy-ass cartel motherfucker. 😡
> 
> Coming up - Ciro loses his virginity, and Lalo gives Rosa a call.


	7. Bluebeard's Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lalo makes Ciro his. Rosa gets a phone call.

The minute they stepped into the house, Lalo pressed Ciro up against the wall, kissing him passionately and pressing his body against him. Ciro could feel the firm outline of Lalo’s erection against his hip. His own dick was so hard it hurt.

“I want to make love to you, Ciro,” Lalo said in between kisses.

A surge of desire ripped through him. “Yes,” he moaned. He fumbled with Lalo’s belt buckle, but Lalo pushed his hands away. “I’d like to make love to you on my bed, but I guess we could do it right here if you’re so anxious.”

The thought flashed through his mind—him naked on all fours in Lalo’s foyer, with Lalo thrusting into him from behind. Another surge—he’d come before he even got his clothes off.

It must have shown on his face, because Lalo chuckled and drew him in for a quick kiss. “The bed will be more comfortable.” He patted his ass. “Go on, get upstairs.”

Ciro didn’t have to be told twice.

Up the steps, into the bedroom with Lalo close behind, and then they were kissing again and kicking off their shoes. This time Lalo didn’t stop him when he reached for his belt. With shaky hands, he undid the buckle and pulled it off, tossing it to the floor, shocked at his own boldness.

“You really are eager!” Lalo teased. “There’s no hurry, is there?”

Ciro nearly screamed. “I can’t wait anymore, please. I want to see you—I _need_ to see you.” He undid the top button of Lalo’s fly, but then Lalo took Ciro’s hands in his. For a moment Ciro was afraid he was going to put him off yet again, but then Lalo moved his fingers to the buttons of his shirt.

“If you want to undress me, start here.” The deep rumble of his voice sent shivers through him.

Ciro’s fingers shook as he undid the top button, and then the next. By some miracle, Ciro was able to get every button undone. The fabric parted, revealing his bare chest—broad and muscular, with a heart-shaped patch of dark hair in the center. Reverently, Ciro put his hands on his skin, relishing the strength he found there. In his limited experimentation with girls, their softness was what put him off the most—all curvy and pliant and distressingly delicate, like he could hurt them by accident. No chance of that here—the flesh was hard under his touch. Like him, but different. Older, sturdier. The only softness to be found was the hair. Ciro ran his fingers through it, brushing a nipple.

Lalo sucked in a breath, and then let it out in a chuckle. “Don’t tell me you’re going to stop there.”

Ciro pushed the shirt from his shoulders, encouraging Lalo to shrug out of it. When the shirt had been cast to the floor, Ciro reached for Lalo’s fly again. This time, Lalo made no move to stop him. He undid the zipper and tugged the pants down. Lalo stepped out of them, naked now except for his boxer briefs. His erection strained against the thin material, wetness seeping through a spot.

Sweat beaded on Ciro’s upper lip; he licked it away. He’d dreamed of this moment ever since their first time together—to see Lalo’s bare body at last. It was almost overwhelming. Lalo made no move and was quiet for once, although he was breathing almost as heavily as Ciro was. A dozen desires fought for dominance in Ciro’s imagination. He seized one and dropped to his knees as he pulled Lalo’s underwear down.

Lalo let out a laugh of surprise. “Are you sure you want to start there?”

Because Lalo was _huge_. Ciro’s own dick was nothing to be ashamed of, but Lalo was even bigger. It didn’t discourage him. He wanted it even more, and he was tired of being teased. So he took Lalo’s cock in one hand and brought the dripping head to his lips.

They both groaned. Ciro ran his tongue over the salty head, like Lalo had done for him many times already. He put the head in his mouth and then made to take the rest of it in, only to gag and pull himself off.

Lalo ran his hand through Ciro’s hair. “Don’t try to take the whole thing,” he murmured. “Just what you can. Use your hand for the rest.”

Determined, Ciro tried again, doing as Lalo told him. It was clumsy at first, but he finally got a rhythm. His own cock strained against his jeans, but he did his best to ignore it, wanting to devote himself entirely to Lalo’s pleasure, just as Lalo had done for him so many times.

He lost himself in the rhythm, relishing the feel and the taste of him, until Lalo tugged at his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. “You,” he said, drawing him into a kiss, “have a natural talent for sucking cock. But I promised to fuck you, didn’t I?”

Ciro nearly melted. “Oh yes, _please...”_

Lalo undressed Ciro a lot faster than Ciro had undressed him. Once he was naked, Lalo smacked his ass and grinned. “Get in the shower—you smell like a stable!”

The shower door was transparent. It felt strangely exposed to be in a shower where the door was completely see-through, but it wasn’t as if there were anyone else there. Lalo turned the shower on and encouraged Ciro to get in while he got a couple of washcloths.

A moment later, Lalo joined him. He picked up a bar of soap and worked up a lather, then ran the washcloth over Ciro’s shoulders and chest. “Gorgeous,” Lalo breathed, the appreciation evident in his voice. Ciro flushed. It occurred to him that this was the first time Lalo had gotten a good look at his naked body—the one time he’d gotten all the way undressed had been in the backseat of Lalo’s convertible in the dim moonlight.

Lalo pulled him in for a kiss while he brought the washcloth down his back and over his ass. Ciro yelped as the washcloth cleaned between his legs thoroughly. When he was finished, Lalo wrapped the soapy washcloth around Ciro’s rock-hard dick and gave him a few quick strokes. His whole body throbbed with pleasure—he was already dangerously close to coming. Fortunately, Lalo drew his hand away and turned the washcloth on himself, cleaning himself off efficiently. Once they were properly rinsed, he turned off the shower and practically yanked Ciro out. It seemed like Ciro wasn’t the only one feeling impatient anymore.

A few brisk rubs of a towel got them dry enough so that they weren’t dripping and then it was back to the bedroom. They fell to the bed in an embrace, kissing passionately, their naked bodies pressed together at last. It was everything he dreamed of and more. Ciro clung to him, afraid he might pull away, make some other excuse to deny him again, but Lalo seemed just as lost in desire, holding nothing back. Their cocks rubbed together in a friction that was somehow both too much and not enough. Ciro moaned in frustration and rocked his hips harder, not sure of what he wanted in that exact moment except for more.

Lalo tried to untangle himself. Ciro let out a distressed cry and tried to cling to him, which made Lalo laugh. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Cirito, but I’m going to need to get something if I’m going to fuck you.”

“Yes,” Ciro moaned. “Oh god, yes, please Lalo, please—”

Ciro released him. Fortunately, he didn’t go far—he merely reached to the nightstand and opened the drawer. Ciro propped himself up on his elbows to see what he was getting—a bottle of lube and a condom.

His breath caught at the sight, and his stomach twisted. This wasn’t just fantasy anymore—it was really happening. He still wanted it, desperately, but he couldn’t help the nervousness that now gripped him. “Is it going to hurt?” he asked.

Lalo paused and gave him an inscrutable look. He put the items aside and lay beside Ciro, drawing him into his arms and giving him a tender kiss. “Yes, a little. It takes some getting used to. But I will make sure to get you ready, and we can always stop. Okay?”

Ciro bit his lip and nodded. “Okay.”

Lalo brushed a strand of hair away from his face. “I wonder,” he murmured, half to himself. “Will you hate me one day for this?”

“ _Hate_ you?” Ciro shook his head vehemently. “No, never! I told you, Lalo—I love you. I will always love you.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?” Lalo kissed him once, achingly sweet, and then pulled away and rubbed a thumb over Ciro’s wet lower lip. “I want to remember you just like this.”

Lalo seemed so uncharacteristically somber. Ciro wasn’t sure what to make of it. Lalo kissed him again, more heated this time, and then his usual good humor returned. “Are you ready?”

Ciro took a deep breath and nodded. Lalo gave Ciro another kiss before moving down until his head was level with his cock. In one smooth motion, he engulfed Ciro’s entire length.

His hips nearly levitated off the bed. Lalo pulled off and put a hand on one hip firmly. “I need you to hold still for me, _cariño_.”

“I’ll come,” Ciro gasped.

Lalo grinned up at him. “Good—I want you to. It will take some of the pressure off.” He opened the bottle and coated two fingers. “And then you’ll come again with my cock inside you, I promise. You’re young—you can manage it.” He put his hands on Ciro’s knees, encouraging his legs to fall open. “Now, spread your legs and keep still.”

Ciro whimpered and did as he was told. Lalo took his cock in his mouth again and gave him a few breathtaking sucks. Ciro clenched the sheets in his fists, shaking with the effort of stopping himself from thrusting into the warm, wet heat of Lalo’s mouth.

As Lalo sucked him, he pressed a wet finger against his hole—not penetrating him yet, but maintaining a gentle pressure as he slowly rubbed the puckered flesh. Never had Ciro been touched so intimately. It felt strange at first, but he soon grew used to it and eager for more. As if Lalo could sense it, he slowly pressed inside.

It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it did feel strange. Once he was inside, Lalo held the finger still while continuing to suck him. After a few minutes, he crooked the finger as if searching for something.

Ciro felt when he found it. He cried out as a lightning bolt of pleasure shot through him. His hips thrust upward, outside of his control. Lalo pulled off of him and laughed. “You liked that, did you?”

Ciro could only nod helpless and tilt his hips, trying to get him to hit that spot again.

Lalo obliged, rubbing that spot while Ciro keened. “I want you to come for me,” Lalo said, his own breathing labored. Then he descended on him again, his pace relentless as he pushed another finger inside.

Ciro did as Lalo commanded—he had no choice. He screamed his release, flooding Lalo’s mouth as he continued to fuck him with his fingers. It seemed to go on forever. His eyes teared as his vision blurred at the edges. He nearly fainted.

Or maybe he actually did, because the next thing he knew, Lalo was by his side again, his fingers still inside him. He kissed his cheek, wet with tears he didn’t remember spilling. “And how was that?”

“Amazing,” Ciro managed to say. It was so inadequate, but it was the best he could do.

Lalo moved his fingers in and out. “Any pain?” When Ciro shook his head, Lalo kissed him again. “Good.” Carefully, he removed his fingers and gave Ciro’s flank a pat. “Turn over.”

Ciro’s stomach fluttered. Lalo promised him he’d come again, but he needed at least a little bit of recovery time. Lalo chuckled as if reading his mind. “I’m not fucking you yet, _cariño_. I want to give you a massage. Make sure you’re good and relaxed, yeah?”

That sounded good. He rolled over and laid his head on his folded arms. Lalo rummaged in the nightstand again, producing a bottle of lotion. There were wet sounds as Lalo pumped the lotion out and smoothed it over his back before he began the massage in earnest.

Ciro melted under his touch. He was so strong but also gentle, working his muscles with expert ease. The longer it went on, the more relaxed Ciro got. After some time, he started to doze off, but he awoke again when Lalo tugged at his hips, encouraging him to get to his knees and spread his legs. He was expecting fingers again, but Lalo surprised him by spreading his cheeks and licking his hole.

Ciro yelped. In all of his fantasies, he had never even considered this. He didn’t even know that it was something people did. It felt weird, being kissed in such an intimate place. It didn’t take long for him to get used to it, and cock stirred as desire pooled in him again.

Lalo took his cock in hand and stroked it as he continued to pleasure him. When Ciro was fully hard and moaning again, Lalo replaced his tongue with his fingers, one, then two, and finally three. At last, Lalo pulled back. He patted Ciro’s hip. “Turn over—I want to see your face.”

He obeyed. Lalo grabbed a pillow and put it under his hips, tilting them upward. Ciro looked up at him and his heart swelled at the tenderness in his face. Yes, he was a killer. He’d done terrible things—probably worse than Ciro could even imagine. But he would never hurt him. Rosa was wrong—everyone was wrong. Lalo loved him, he knew it, and they were going to live happily ever after.

“Are you ready?” Lalo murmured.

In response, Ciro surged upward and wrapped his arms around Lalo, kissing him. “Yes, please, I love you, I want you…”

Lalo gave him one more kiss and reached beside him for the condom. He tore it open and rolled it on, then encouraged Ciro to lie back again and spread his legs wide. Lalo slathered on more lube before taking hold of cock and lining himself up, and then slowly, slowly pressed inside. Ciro winced. Even with all of Lalo’s careful preparation, it still hurt. But he breathed through it as Lalo went in deeper, until at last he was fully seated inside him.

Lalo dropped to his forearms on either side of Ciro’s head, panting. “ _Jesucristo_ , you’re so tight,” he gasped, sounding for once as overcome with desire as Ciro felt whenever he was with him. He peppered Ciro’s face with kisses. “You okay?”

In response, Ciro wrapped his legs around him, pulling him in tighter. It still hurt, but his body was adjusting. He willed himself open, to draw Lalo as deep into his body as he could go. Lalo let out something between a moan and a sob. His hips twitched. “Please be ready, _cariño_ , I can’t stay still much longer…”

“Do it,” Ciro said in his ear. “Fuck me.” He thrilled at his own vulgarity.

Lalo pulled out halfway and pushed slowly back in, watching Ciro’s face the whole time. He did it again, and again, adjusting his speed based on Ciro’s winces. Gradually, the pain melted away, leaving only pleasure as Lalo thrust gently inside him.

“You feel so _good_ ,” Lalo moaned in his ear. His thrusts sped up. “Okay?” he asked again, panting.

“Harder,” Ciro said, because it seemed like Lalo was waiting for permission. Lalo shuddered and increased his pace, really fucking him now. He pushed himself up until he was on his knees and pushed Ciro’s thighs wider, penetrating him with deep strokes as he adjusted his angle until he hit that spot inside him. Ciro wailed.

Lalo took ahold of Ciro’s cock and pumped him in time with his thrusts. The pleasure was so intense that Ciro felt like he might leave his body. Lalo thrust faster, harder, and then suddenly pulled out. “Turn over and get on your knees,” he commanded.

Ciro scrambled to comply. He was barely in position when Lalo thrust back in again, his pace hard and fast. The penetration was deeper from this angle—a twinge of pain returned, but somehow it enhanced the pleasure roiling through him. Lalo panted and moaned as he thrust even faster. He grabbed Ciro’s cock and stroked it with the same brutal speed.

“Come for me, _cariño_. _Now._ ”

For the second time, Ciro obeyed. As the pleasure ripped through him, Lalo let out a roar and thrust in one more time. He shook with his climax, pushing himself inside as deep as he could go.

They both collapsed; the weight of Lalo’s body nearly knocked the wind out of him. Lalo carefully pulled out of him, then rolled onto his side and hooked an arm around Ciro from behind, cradling him against his chest. They were both drenched in sweat and panting. When they finally caught their breath, Lalo kissed the nape of Ciro’s neck. “Well? Is it what you dreamed?”

Ciro summoned enough energy to roll over and put his arms around his neck. “Yes! Lalo, I love you so much.”

Lalo cupped his cheek. “Oh Cirito.” He kissed him tenderly. “Let’s go get washed off, and I’ll make some dinner.”

Ciro yawned. “I don’t think I can move.”

“Then take a nap, and I’ll go make dinner.” He kissed him. “Shower when you wake up. I’ll leave a robe for you—don’t get dressed again.”

“’kay,” Ciro said lazily, already drifting off. His whole body tingled in the afterglow.

Lalo got out of bed. He tucked Ciro in under the blankets before leaving for the bathroom. A moment later, Ciro heard the shower running. He sighed happily and snuggled up to a pillow. He’d had his doubts, but now he was sure he’d made the right decision. To think, this would be his life every day from now on. And he’d have a stable of horses, and anything else he wanted, and Lalo every day. Had anyone in the history of the world been luckier than him?

***

Lalo sang to himself as he showered, some love song he couldn’t quite remember the words to. Sex always energized him, especially good sex. Every part of him still thrummed in the aftermath. Christ, that had been the best fuck he’d had in ages. It was worth every ounce of effort he’d put into his seduction. Not that Ciro had made it hard. In fact, he’d been a little disappointed at first with how quickly Ciro fell for him. Half the pleasure of a love affair was the conquest, but Ciro had been his from the moment they met. Lalo was afraid he’d grow bored.

But that hadn’t happened. In fact, Ciro’s sheer vulnerability stirred something in him, awakening a desire that surprised him with its strength. Lalo chuckled to himself. It was a shame he could only take Ciro’s virginity once, but there were other pleasures in store for them, he was sure. He wasn’t lying when he told Ciro he had a natural talent for sucking dick. Lalo would have to cultivate that.

He dried himself off briskly and went to the closet, pulling on some jeans and a T-shirt. He picked out a robe and hung it from the shower door, hoping that Ciro would remember his instructions. Not that either of them were up for another round any time soon, but he liked the idea of keeping Ciro unclothed around the house. He imagined himself at the dining room table with a naked Ciro between his legs, sucking him off as he ate.

An arousing idea. Lalo had a lot of them. And Ciro would do whatever he was told.

Lalo went downstairs to the kitchen to get started on dinner, his mind still buzzing with dreams of the future. Ciro was just what he needed. He wouldn’t have much tenderness in his life now that his mother had died. Once he’d gotten over the shock of her death, he realized that without her, there was no one left in the world to miss him. Oh, certainly his cousins and his aunts and uncles would miss him in a vague way, every now and again, and be glad to see him when they next met. But someone like, say, Tío Hector, would never sit in a kitchen somewhere and sigh, thinking of Lalo for no reason other than that he loved him. It was a curious, unmoored feeling—like he could disappear and it wouldn’t matter.

The business with the Sinaloans made his mood worse. He’d gone to Lucky Ranch on impulse. He liked the idea of bringing home some beautiful creature to populate his otherwise empty paradise. And then he caught sight of Ciro, and realized that it wasn’t a horse that he needed.

Ciro wasn’t Lalo’s first conquest, and wouldn’t be his last. Lalo’s affairs were usually intense but brief. He told himself he didn’t want anything more. It was even mostly true. He didn’t want a _relationship_ —building a life with someone, with all of the compromises and work that entailed.

But a kept boy? Well. That was something else. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He loved the idea of Ciro at his estate, tucked away in the little house that he’d had built on the edge of his property for the occasions when he wanted total solitude. He’d have to find another place for that now, but he didn’t mind. He loved the idea of Ciro waiting in that house while Lalo was away, unable to think of anything other than how much he missed him.

Lalo rifled through the fridge and decided on enchiladas—simple and easy. He put a pan together and got it in the oven, then got a beer and went to sit on the patio. He grabbed the phone on his way out, too. It was a gorgeous day, the afternoon just now fading into evening. Ciro’s mother would still be at work. Ciro’s grandmother would be getting dinner ready for the girls. Which meant Rosa, who had quit her job when the news of her scholarship came in, would be the one to answer the phone.

Ciro mentioned Rosa a lot—probably more than he realized. She was clearly the most important person in Ciro's life. And she hated him, and would do whatever she could to get Ciro out of his grasp. Rather than wait for the drama to unfold, Lalo chose to manage it. He was very pleased with himself at how he had arranged things. He dialed the number to the de la Cruz house.

After three rings, someone picked up—female, young. Rosa. “Hello?”

“Rosa!” he said cheerfully. “It’s Lalo—how are you?”

“Ciro’s not here,” she said flatly. “He’s at work.”

“He’s not, actually. He quit his job.”

“ _What?_ ” A lot more animated now. He grinned—he was just getting started. “Then where is he?”

“With me, of course, at my home. Well, where I’m staying while I’m in the city, at least.”

“Why did you make him quit his job?”

Lalo rolled his eyes. “I didn’t _make_ him do anything. He’s a grown man, Rosa. He can make his own decisions.”

“He wouldn’t just quit his job for no reason.”

“And you are correct. He got a better offer.” Lalo tried very hard to keep the glee out of his voice, but he didn’t think he was entirely successful. “He’s going to come work for me—relax, not like that!” he said, speaking over her as she started to protest. “He’s going to take care of the horses at my estate. He’ll be very safe.”

She let out a bark of bitter laughter. “Safe. You’re a fucking narco—there is no safe with you!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong. Your father and brother weren’t safe when they were gunned down, were they?” Lalo pointed out. “Ciro will be much safer with me than he’d ever be staying in your shithole town. I’ve got a nice place to tuck him away. And your brother needs looking after, doesn’t he? He’s very sweet, but not too smart, eh?”

The blast of curses Rosa spewed was so loud he had to hold the phone away from his head. He made sure his laughter was under control before bringing the phone back to his face—no reason for him to be rude.

“Put him on the phone,” she demanded.

“Nah, he’s resting.”

“What do you mean resting? It isn’t even five o’clock—why would he be resting?”

He smirked and took a drink of beer. “Why do you think?”

“Go wake him up and put him on the phone now, or I’m calling the police.”

Lalo laughed so hard he nearly shot beer out of his nose. “The police? And tell them what? That your brother has been kidnapped by a notorious narco? Oh Rosita, even if that were true, you think the police are going to try anything with me? You don’t seem to know the law as well as I thought you did from your essay.”

“My essay?” She sounded bewildered.

“Yes, the one you wrote when you applied for your scholarship. You have a real passion for the law—I told the board you’d be an excellent student. Congratulations, by the way.”

She said nothing for several long moments. “What do you mean, you told the board?”

“I’m a philanthropist, of course! I’m very rich, you know. And it always pays to have lawyers and judges who owe you their careers. I have quite a nice collection.” Lalo grinned. “Don’t be upset—I’m sure you would have been picked even if I didn’t weigh in. Your application was very good. But hey, it doesn’t hurt to have powerful friends, eh? I know you’re upset right now, but trust me, I’m the luckiest thing to ever happen to your family.”

A beat of silence. “Will guys your own age not fuck you because you’re a criminal, or because you’re a creep?”

The smile dropped from Lalo’s face. “Careful, Rosita. I can be bad luck, too. Very, _very_ bad.”

Silence again. The next time she spoke, her voice shook. “You can have anyone, but he’s my brother—the only brother I have left. I love him. He has a whole family who loves him. Please, _please_ just let him go.”

“But he doesn’t want to go. He’s desperately in love with me.”

“Don’t tell me you love him. I won’t believe you.”

“Would you believe that I want him to be happy?”

“No.”

Lalo sighed. “Tell me - why do people keep birds as pets?” No response. “Not even a guess from a smart girl like you? Very well, I will tell you. They keep them because they are pretty to look at, and sing pleasant songs. A home is cheerier with a bird.”

Lalo took another drink of beer before continuing. “Now, let’s puzzle this out a little more. Let’s say our bird owner finds that his pet has become depressed. It stops singing. It plucks out its own feathers. It lies around in its cage, limp and forlorn. Is that going to cheer a home?” No response again. “Well, Rosa? I’m starting to think maybe you aren’t smart enough for that scholarship after all.”

“No,” Rosa said. “It would not cheer a home. And a sad bird would be no fun to fuck either, I’m guessing.”

Lalo laughed. “Very funny! I like you.”

“And I hate you.” The loathing in her voice could have curdled milk.

“Eh, I don’t need any pleasant songs from you. Just cooperation. When Ciro tells you his good news, be happy for him. Talk to your mother and grandmother and make them understand. I want a cheerful farewell tomorrow.”

“ _Tomorrow?_ ” Rosa wailed. “No—no it’s too soon, you can’t—”

“But I can,” Lalo interrupted. “I already have. Don’t make an enemy of me.” He hung up, not waiting for a response.

He finished his beer and returned to the kitchen to check on dinner. The enchiladas smelled delicious—just a little while longer and they’d be done. He got another beer and went to the living room to watch a little TV. He was just about to check on dinner again when Ciro emerged, wrapped in the bathrobe, his hair damp, a shy smile on his face.

Lalo got up and approached him. “There he is!” He swept Ciro into his arms and kissed him. “Have a good nap?”

Ciro nodded. “Dinner smells really good.”

“It does, doesn’t it? I think it’s just about ready.” He reached under the robe and tweaked his bare ass, which made Ciro jump and laugh. God, he was perfect—so sweet, so young, so different from everything else in his ugly, violent life.

Yes, his _pájarito_ was just the thing he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, Lalo is the worst person who has ever lived.
> 
> Coming up, Lalo gets Ciro settled in his new ~~cage~~ home. Chapter title: Tell Me Again.


	8. Generous, Guiltless, and of Free Disposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa and Ciro fight. Lalo is generous.

The enchiladas were incredible. Ciro’s mother was a talented cook, but even her recipe didn’t hold a candle to what Lalo had prepared. “You’re an amazing cook.”

“You sound so surprised!” Lalo laughed. “And this is nothing. Wait until we get home and I’ll prepare a feast for you. My gardener Cecelio keeps a beautiful vegetable garden. The tomatoes are to die for.”

 _Home._ Ciro’s stomach fluttered. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

The flutter in his stomach morphed into queasiness. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell my family.”

Lalo set down his fork. “While you were napping, I called them. I didn’t want them hearing about you leaving your job in the middle of the day and going missing with me—wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea, you know?”

“You talked to my abuela?”

“No, to Rosa.”

The blood in his face drained. “And you told her I’m going home with you? What did she say?”

Lalo scratched his chin. “Well, she was upset, obviously, but we were able to find common ground.”

Ciro furrowed his brow. “Common ground?”

“Yes. We both want you to be happy.” He winked. “I have a feeling she’ll come around.”

Ciro snorted. “You don’t know Rosa.” He pushed the remainder of his food around the plate, his appetite gone.

Lalo nudged him. “Hey. Don’t look so glum! Things will work out. It’s hard to leave home, but every man must at some point. You aren’t a child. This is your life—you make your own decisions.”

He sounded almost anxious. It was kind of cute. “Lalo, you don’t have to worry about me changing my mind.” Ciro smiled. “I’m yours, always.”

It was the right thing to say. Lalo sucked in a sharp breath. “Yes. Mine.” He leaned forward for a kiss, snaking a hand inside the robe to caress Ciro’s bare skin. Ciro was spent, but desire still pulsed through him—lazy and gentle instead of the desperate frenzy he felt earlier.

Too soon, Lalo pulled back and chuckled. “We’ll have all the time in the world for that later.” He stood. “Let’s get you home to pack. I’ve got some things to take care of tonight, so I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

They didn’t say much on their way over to his place. The sun had set and the cool evening air left goosebumps on Ciro’s skin. Or maybe it was just nerves. Rosa was no doubt fuming, no matter what “common ground” Lalo thought they had reached. Had she told his mother what was really going on between him and Lalo? In that case, his mom might kick him out, leaving Lalo as his only option anyway. The choice had been made. There was no going back.

Lalo pulled into the driveway. Ciro risked a quick kiss to Lalo’s cheek. “See you in the morning.”

“I’m not leaving yet.” Lalo turned off the ignition. “I want to talk to them—ease their worries. Family is so important, Ciro. I want to do right by yours.”

What did he mean by that?

The door was open. Ciro peaked inside. His whole family was there in the living room, as if waiting for him. Which they probably were, since Lalo had called ahead. Worry creased all of their faces, even the girls. Ciro swallowed. He wanted to say something, but his voice stuck in his throat.

Lalo didn’t have the same problem. “Hey! So good to see you beautiful ladies again.” He embraced his mother and grandmother in turn, and tussled the girls’ hair. He approached Rosa last, who was standing with her arms crossed in the doorway to the hall leading to the bedrooms. “Good to see you, too, Rosa.”

She didn’t respond, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He turned to the others and clapped his hands. “So Rosa told you the good news?”

His mother gave a barely perceptible nod. “Some.”

“Balada is going to be my third horse,” Lalo said. “I’ve been having my gardener Cecelio look after them, but he’s getting up there in years, and his specialty is tomatoes, not horses. It will be a real help to have Ciro around. And hey, I know Ciro was really worried about you losing his income, but I pay a lot better than Lucky Ranch.” He pulled out his wallet and counted through a wad of cash. Ciro’s eyes widened—it was the most money he’d ever seen in person.

Lalo held it all out to his mother. “To help out—I know things have been tight for you.” When his mother remained frozen, he stepped closer. “Go on, it’s my pleasure.”

She accepted it. “You’re too generous.”

Lalo’s grin widened. “No such thing. Not when it comes to family. There will be more, too—let’s say it’s part of my benefits package for my employees.” He clapped Ciro on the back. “I’ll come by to pick you up tomorrow—bright and early! It’s a bit of a drive.”

“Where’s your place?” Rosa asked.

Lalo turned to Rosa, seeming surprised she’d spoken. “Chihuahua.”

“By the US border?”

“No, a little north of Cuauhtémoc.” He paused and cocked his head, considering her. “But I value my privacy. You’d have a hard time finding it without an invitation. Say the word though, and I’d be happy to have you for a visit. I’ll send one of my guys to get you.”

“And he’ll make me wear a blindfold, I’m guessing. To preserve your privacy.”

Lalo just laughed. “You’re very funny, Rosita. I enjoyed our conversation earlier. Keep it in mind, yeah?” He winked at her, and the waved to the rest of the family. “See you in the morning!” And then he was gone.

No one said anything for several long minutes. Rosa broke the silence. “So that’s it, then," she said to their mother. "You’re just going to sell your one surviving son to the cartel?”

Ciro flushed, but before he could object, his mother spoke. “That’s enough, Rosa. What would you have me do? Refuse his money? And what would happen to us then?”

Ciro jumped in. “No, Mamá—he would never hurt any of you. He—”

She held up her hand, stopping him. “I don’t want to hear your justifications,” she said, her voice shaking. “I don’t want to hear anything about it at all.” She looked down at the money in her hand, like it was a snake that might bite her. “I’m going to put this away.” She disappeared into the bedroom.

Lucia came up to Ciro. “Are you going away forever?” she asked, her eyes wide.

Ciro crouched down and put his arms around her. “No, I’ll come back to visit, I promise. It’s a good job for me.”

“Raffa went away and never came back,” she said.

Ciro’s heart clenched. “I promise that won’t happen to me.”

His grandmother took Lucia’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you girls ready for bed.” She gave Ciro a mournful look before leading them away.

Which left Rosa and Ciro alone. She didn’t say anything, her arms crossed tight over her chest. He rubbed his neck. “Look, I know you aren’t happy—”

“Not happy doesn’t even begin to cover it! Ciro, what are you thinking—going to live with him in his narco hideout?”

“He says it’s safe! I’m not going to be in any danger from the cartel—”

She cut him off. “I’m not worried about the cartel. I’m worried about him.”

Ciro shook his head. “He won’t hurt me. He loves me.”

Rosa let out a bark of bitter laughter. “Trust me, Ciro—he doesn’t. He’s manipulating you. That’s why he called me—to bring me in on it.”

Ciro’s mouth went dry. “What did he say?”

She shifted. “He’s the one who got me my scholarship. Says it pays to keep a bunch of lawyers and judges in his back pocket, so he had sway over the scholarship board.”

Ciro blinked. “He got you the scholarship?” He remembered mentioning it to Lalo at dinner that one night—he had cared enough to look into it for her, even after she’d been so rude to him? His heart swelled. “But that’s wonderful, isn’t it? See, he cares about me, and about my family. And you’re saying that he did it to manipulate me? How does giving you a scholarship help him at all?”

“Because he wants me to be all smiles and sunshine about you running away with him. He wants to keep you happy.”

Ciro furrowed his brow. “So he told you he wants to make me happy, and you think that’s evidence that he’s going to hurt me?”

She threw her hands up. “I’m not explaining it right. He sees you like some sort of pet. He compared you to a bird—”

“Yeah, that’s his nickname for me,” Ciro interrupted. “His pájarito. He calls me that all the time.”

“No, that’s not—!” She cut herself off with a frustrated sound. “It’s all twisted up. You just have to believe me. The way he was talking about you—he doesn’t respect you. He thinks you’re stupid.”

Ciro’s face flamed. “No, _you_ think I’m stupid. You always have.”

Horror flickered across her face. “Ciro, no! I don’t think that at all!”

“Yes, you do! You always think you know better than me.” His voice grew louder. “You have my whole life planned out for me—taking me to the city while you chase your dreams. What about mine?”

She opened and shut her mouth, searching for words. “I-I never meant it like that. I just wanted to look out for you!”

“Well, I don’t need you,” Ciro said coldly. “I can make my own decisions.”

She blinked rapidly, and then tears streamed down her cheeks. Rosa never cried. “Please, Ciro, don’t do this. He’s a bad person. Do you know the kind of things he’s done? I’ve been looking into it. There was this hotel, and he and his uncle—”

“I don’t want to hear it—you just hate that I’m starting my own life without you!” he roared. They both startled—Ciro never yelled. He took a deep breath and continued more quietly. “Can’t you just be happy for me?” His voice cracked. “Please?”

“Oh, Ciro.” She crossed the room and put her arms around him. “I’m so scared for you. I’ll give up the scholarship, I don’t care. Whatever dreams you have, just tell me, and I’ll help. But not this—anything but this—” Her shoulders shook as she sobbed. Ciro started crying, too.

Ciro pulled back and wiped his nose with his sleeve. “You don't understand. I love him, and he loves me.”

She brushed her tears away. “ _I_ love you. Your family loves you. Not Lalo Salamanca. He’s a predator.”

Ciro shook his head. “No, you’re wrong.”

“Ask yourself—why does he want you? What do you have in common? Does he respect you? Is he as committed to you as you are to him?”

Ciro’s heart hardened. He untangled himself from her. “You really can’t believe anyone would love me, can you?”

“No!” Rosa cried. “How are you hearing that? I just want you to _think_ —”

“I have thought,” Ciro said. “And I’ve made up my mind. And if you can’t accept that, there’s nothing left to discuss.”

He left her weeping as he stormed into their room. He pulled out a duffle bag and started packing. It didn’t take him long; he didn’t own much. His eyes flooded with tears again. Why couldn’t she just be happy for him? Why was it all so complicated?

A snake of doubt wrapped around him and whispered in his ear. _What if she’s right?_

He shook his head, dislodging it. No. Lalo had always been so gentle with him, so patient. If he was really some sort of user, he would have taken what he wanted weeks ago. And he was so generous with his family. He didn’t have to be—Ciro would have gone with him anyway. Rosa was wrong. She would see that eventually.

He just wished she could see it now, so that his heart wouldn’t feel like it was breaking.

***

Lalo whistled as he drove to the de la Cruz residence. The sun had barely risen, but he could already tell it was going to be a beautiful morning. All of his business was concluded to his satisfaction. He’d been right about the mess with Blanco—by acting outraged at the disrespect, he was able to squeeze out some more concessions. Tío Hector would be pleased. Don Eladio, too.

And now it was time for some rest and relaxation. Thoughts of Ciro flooded his mind—he couldn’t wait to get him home and really enjoy him. He adjusted himself through his jeans. It had been ages since he’d been this excited by a lover. Ciro really was something special—a mixture of a blushing virgin and a wanton slut. And such devotion! He could probably shoot that sister of his dead in front of him and it wouldn’t shake his love.

Not that he wanted to. He actually liked her, even if she was being a bitch. There was a soft spot in his heart for spirited women. She reminded him of his mother. Although that fondness only went so far—hopefully she had behaved herself. If he had to put up with a sniveling Ciro for the whole car ride back to Chihuahua, he’s snuff her out like a bug.

He checked in the rearview mirror to make sure Angel was still following him in the minivan—another gift for Ciro’s family. Lalo respected his elders in the cartel who enforced their will with violence, but while he agreed terror that had its place, nothing beat generosity as a way to control people, in his opinion. Gratitude was a weakness that was easy to exploit. Far more efficient than violence—and better for his dry-cleaning bill, too.

Besides, he liked Ciro’s humble little family, and it pleased him to raise them up. Lalo was sentimental that way.

Lalo pulled into the driveway, with Angel parking beside him. Angel stayed with the cars while Lalo hopped out of the convertible and approached the house. Ciro opened the door before he knocked. He was holding a duffle bag. Was that all Ciro had in the world? He probably should have told him not to bother—Lalo would be buying him new clothes, anyway. “Morning, _pájarito_. Ready to fly home with me?”

“Yes.” He seemed a little down, which was to be expected, but those puppy eyes of his shined with adoration. Lalo fought the urge to kiss him.

“Hey, your mom hasn’t left for work yet, has she? I’ve got something for her.”

Ciro hesitated briefly, but then he turned and went inside. Lalo waited for them on the front lawn. A few moments later, they joined him. Lalo snapped his finger to Angel, who threw him the keys to the minivan. He greeted Ciro’s mother and embraced her. “Must be a sad day, having your boy leave the nest, eh? Well, I thought I’d soften the blow.” He held out the keys and gestured to the minivan. “Look—it’s your new car! Lots of room for everyone.”

She blinked, stunned. “Señor, it’s too much—”

“Lalo,” he corrected her. “We’re family now, yeah?”

Lalo caught a glimpse of Abeulita and the girls in the window. No Rosa, though. He waved to them; they waved back.

“Come on,” Lalo said when she still hadn’t accepted the keys. “How can you say no?”

She took the keys. “I can’t, can I?” Lalo wasn’t sure he liked her tone, but then she continued. “Thank you, Lalo.”

Lalo beamed and turned back to Ciro. “Have you said your goodbyes?”

Ciro nodded. He gave his mother a hug. “I love you, Mamá. I’ll call you later.”

Both of their faces were wet with tears, but it was an acceptable level of emotion. No hysterics or blubbering. Rosa must have been a good girl, after all. He wondered why she wasn’t out here—avoiding him, probably.

But then she appeared in the doorway, just as their mother went inside. She narrowed her eyes at him—if looks could kill, he’d be a wet spot right about now. He smirked. She turned her gaze away from him and onto Ciro. “Ciro, please. Don’t leave with him.”

Lalo’s eyebrows shot up. Not such a good girl, it seemed.

Ciro stiffened. “Goodbye, Rosa,” he said coldly. “Come on, Lalo, let’s go.” He stalked over to the convertible, duffle bag in tow.

His little bird was angry! Lalo couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. Desolate would have been unbearable, but this anger was cute, especially since it wasn't directed at him. A few quick steps and he got ahead of Ciro and opened the door for him. Before he got in, Lalo gave his ass a quick but thorough grope, then turned around to meet Rosa’s furious gaze. He winked and blew her a kiss. She looked so miserable that Lalo almost felt sorry.

Almost.

Lalo got in the driver’s side while Angel got in the back. They pulled out of the driveway and were on their way.

Once they were on the road, Lalo put his arm around Ciro and pulled him in for a quick kiss. Ciro pulled away and shot a nervous glance back at Angel, but Lalo just laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Hey Angel—you care who I fuck?”

“Depends, patrón—you care about the whores I buy with the money you pay me?”

Lalo laughed again. Angel was his favorite guy down here. “We’re gonna drop Angel off at the ranch—he’s going to bring Balada home. That way, you and I can take our time. There’s a little resort about halfway there—I reserved a room for us.” Lalo caressed his thigh. Ciro blushed like a virgin, but his breathy little exhale was pure whore.

If Rosa had tried to turn Ciro against him, she had failed spectacularly. Lalo had planned on torpedoing her scholarship if she misbehaved, but now that he thought about it, it would be meaner to let her keep it. See if she could live with herself, trading her brother for a law degree. There was a chance she’d refuse it out of principle, but he doubted she would. She seemed like a practical girl.

They dropped Angel off at the ranch and headed to the highway. The sun shone brightly, the smell of spring wafting through the air. Lalo turned on the radio and sang along for a few bars. Ciro slumped in his seat and stared out the window, his lip curved in a sexy little pout. “Something troubling you?” Lalo asked.

He sighed. “It’s Rosa. She told me that you were the one who got her the scholarship.”

Lalo kept his voice neutral. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And that’s so amazing of you, to want to help her. I’m grateful even if she isn’t.”

Lalo tried not to smirk. “She’s not grateful?”

“No!” he fumed. “She went off on this whole thing about how everything you do is to manipulate me. It’s like she can’t believe that anyone would fall in love me.” He paused. “You do love me, don’t you?” he asked in a small voice.

So vulnerable. Lalo could just eat him up. “Do you even have to ask?” He wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close.

Ciro nuzzled against him. “I guess not.”

After a quick kiss, Lalo let him go, and he migrated back to his side of the car. They were quiet for a little while before Ciro spoke again. “Why do you like me?”

The question caught him off guard. “What?”

“Is it just because you want to…you know. Have sex with me.”

“No, of course not!” Lalo said quickly.

“Then why? We don’t really have a lot in common.”

Lalo scratched his chin. “Well—we both like horses.”

“I guess so.”

They lapsed into silence. Shit. Not an auspicious start. He wanted Ciro in a good mood. His pout was very sexy, but his insecurity was not. “Look, maybe we’re drawn together because we’re so different. And you’ve seen how my life is—I need someone like you.” Lalo took his hand. “To be the light in my dark. Someone to come home to.”

That did it. Ciro melted, his eyes shining in adoration. “You really need me?”

Lalo smiled. “What do you think?”

The radio started playing “Hermoso Cariño”—one of Lalo’s favorites. He turned it up and sang to Ciro. “ _Hermoso cariño_ _, hermoso cariño that God has sent me, to be destined for no one else but me…_ ”

Ciro blushed, just as he had the first time Lalo had serenaded him. He continued. “ _Precioso regalo, precioso regalo has arrived from heaven, and has filled me up with happiness and love...”_

He grabbed Ciro around the waist and pulled him close again. He giggled as Lalo continued to sing. “ _Hermoso cariño, hermoso cariño, I'm already like a child with a new toy, content and happy, I can't avoid it_ ”—he sang even louder—“ _and I want to yell it out, that God has sent for no one else but me!”_

By the time the song was over, his pet was content again. As he drove with his arm around him, something in Lalo’s heart twinged. Maybe he even meant what he said. At least a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adjusted the number of horses Lalo has down - five seemed like a lot for Cecelio to deal with all by himself lol. I've also gotten rid of my chapter estimate - this thing just keeps getting longer so I have no idea how many chapters it will end up being. 
> 
> The song is "Hermoso Cariño" by Vicente Fernández, which Lalo sings to himself while spying on Gus. I already used it for another fic, but it's just too perfect to resist.
> 
> Coming up - ~~Lalo and Ciro go shopping.~~ Actually, they are going to a discreet gay resort and meeting some of Lalo's non-cartel friends, including a former call boy named Jesús, because someone has got to call out Lalo's bullshit now that Rosa is out of the picture.


	9. Can It Be Called a Fault to Play with You?

__

_“You are fallen in your prime  
_ _defrauded of your youth, O Hyacinthus!”  
_ _Moaned Apollo. “I can see in your sad wound  
_ _my own guilt, and you are my cause of grief  
_ _and self-reproach. My own hand gave you death  
_ _unmerited — I only can be charged  
_ _with your destruction.—What have I done wrong?  
_ _Can it be called a fault to play with you?”_

 _\- Metamorphoses,_ Ovid

Lalo had lied.

Casa del Edén was not on the way to his place. He took them southwest rather than northeast, down to Puerto Vallarta. Lalo expected Ciro to ask why they were going in the opposite direction, but he never did. Either he didn’t notice or didn’t care. Lalo could drive him straight into hell and he wouldn’t bat an eye.

They didn’t speak much. Ciro seemed content to watch the scenery, occasionally turning his gaze on Lalo with the same dreamy wonderment. Lalo’s mind drifted. He looked forward to the resort and hoped to see some friends—he was sick to death of the cartel crew. He wanted to relax with like-minded men with money, somewhere discrete where he wouldn’t have to watch his back every second. Casa del Edén catered to men of his persuasion.

He’d been honest with Ciro—he didn’t hide who he was, and he made damn sure his reputation was terrifying enough to deter any disrespect. But fear wasn’t the same as acceptance. And there was always some idiot hoping to make a name for himself and figured the fag Salamanca would make an easy target. Then Lalo would have to kill them as messily as possible. Blanco had been lucky Ciro was there—the deaths of the men who came for Lalo Salamanca were usually not so quick.

But it was exhausting. That’s why he made his own paradise, sealed from the world where he could simply be. He and Ciro would make it there eventually, but first some fun. Lalo was eager to show him off to people who would appreciate his latest catch.

The catch in question had shut his eyes and leaned against the car door, napping. He looked even younger when he was asleep—a kid tuckered out from being woken up early for a trip. A pinprick of unease threatened to deflate his good mood. Ciro was young, but not _that_ young, really. Lalo had lost his virginity at fifteen, and by the time he was Ciro’s age, he’d already killed several people. No, at twenty-one, Ciro was definitely an adult. Nothing to feel guilty about.

Except Ciro was not quite _there_. Inexperience alone wasn’t enough to explain it. He reminded Lalo of a cousin of his, Elena—a pretty, sensitive thing. Her father had been a real son of a bitch with a lot of enemies. One night, some of them took their revenge, sneaking into his house with machetes and slaughtering them all. Elena had escaped by hiding under her bed.

Another branch of the Salamanca clan took her in, but the experience changed her. She was distant, dreamy, as if she’d willed herself out of the cruel world and taken up residence on her own planet. Had she been a boy, maybe there would have been some attempt to bring her back to earth, put her to work in the bloody business of the cartel, channel her pain into revenge the way the rest of them did.

But she was a girl, pretty and sweet, and so they left her to her own devices. One day a man swooped in, as was bound to happen. They married with the family’s blessing, but something went wrong. Lalo never got the full story—either she killed herself, or he killed her. Either way, the husband was to blame. He had to pay.

Lalo helped. He was young and eager to build his reputation. Lalo’s father had dealt the killing blow, but it was Lalo’s idea to decapitate the corpse and kick it like a football. How they all had laughed! Vengeance was had, and good riddance. Lalo had been filled with disgust. What kind of man would take advantage of such a defenseless creature and then destroy her?

But the situation with Ciro was clearly different. This wasn’t the romance Ciro thought it was, but Lalo would take care of him. Ciro was lucky, really, that Lalo was the one who found him.

He could have ended up with a real monster.

***

They stopped for lunch around noon—some taco stand off the highway. They sat at a table outside. The sun was bright, but an umbrella shaded them. Lalo used his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow—it was hotter than usual for this time of year, but that meant the weather at the beach would be perfect.

“How much longer till we get there?” Ciro asked between bites.

“Another hour or so. You ever been to a beach resort?”

“It’s a beach resort?” Ciro frowned. “I thought we were on our way to Chihuahua.”

“Eh, it’s a detour, but worth it. You’ll love it. Very relaxing, and maybe some of my friends will be there.” When Ciro stiffened, Lalo laughed. “Not cartel people. Guys like us, if you get what I mean.”

For a moment, it seemed like Lalo was going to have to explain, but then Ciro brightened. “Oh!”

Lalo grinned. “Yeah, we can be ourselves, have a good time. I thought we’d stay a week, maybe two.” Lalo finished his last taco and wiped his mouth. “Let’s hit the road. Hey, you want to drive this next stretch?”

“Oh, I don’t know how to drive,” Ciro said.

Lalo stared at him. “What do you mean, you don’t know how to drive?”

Ciro didn’t answer for a minute. “When my dad and brother died—we were in the car. My mom couldn’t afford to replace it. Jorge offered to teach me, but…” He shrugged and looked down at what was left of his meal. “Guess we never got around to it.”

 _We?_ “You were there when they were killed?”

Ciro nodded but didn’t raise his head. “Guess I got lucky.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t like to think about it.” He looked up at last. “Did you ever find out anything about my brother Raffa?” His eyes were hopeful.

Lalo hesitated. He had, in fact. Raffa had ended up in the Juárez cartel, as luck would have it. Worked for Tío Hector for a short time before getting killed. But he wasn’t about to put a damper on their vacation. Besides, what good would it do Ciro to know? “I asked around, but nothing came up. Sorry.”

Ciro slumped. “That’s okay. Thanks for trying.”

They got up and threw their trash away. As they headed to the car, Lalo caught Ciro looking back at the stand. “You get enough to eat?” he asked.

“Yeah, but…” He looked bashful. “They’ve got some ice cream that looks really good.”

Ice cream did sound good—it was certainly warm enough. He got out his wallet and pulled out some bills. “Here—get me one too. But we eat them here—no ice cream in the car.”

Lalo sat back down as Ciro got in line behind an elderly man with a cane. His hands shook as he paid the cashier, and the shaking got worse as he tried to carry his tray with one hand and use his cane with the other. Ciro rescued him, taking the tray and helping him to the table beside Lalo. After he got him settled, Ciro returned to Lalo. “I forgot to ask what flavor you wanted.”

“Vanilla,” Lalo decided.

Ciro returned to the cashier to order. The old man beamed at Lalo. “That’s a good boy you got there,” he said.

Lalo’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Your son,” he said. “You raised him right. Not too many young people respect their elders these days.”

For the first time in his life, Lalo was struck speechless. When Ciro returned with the ice cream, Lalo stood and gestured to the car. “Let’s go.”

Ciro cocked his head. “I thought you said no ice cream in the car.”

“I changed my mind.”

“But how are you going to eat and drive at the same time?”

Lalo took his ice cream from Ciro and dumped it in the trash. “I changed my mind about the ice cream, too,” he snapped. “Get in the car.”

Ciro cringed but did as he was told. Once they were in the car, Lalo sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning to Ciro, who was looking at him like a kicked puppy. “Is everything okay?” Ciro asked in a small voice.

Lalo flashed him a smile and thumped his chest. “Heartburn,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

Ciro returned his smile and took a bite of his ice cream. Lalo looked over his shoulder—the old man was watching them. “Hey, you got a little something—” He reached out as if to brush something from Ciro’s face, but then pulled him in for a kiss, licking some of the sweet ice cream from his lips. He pulled back. “There, got it.”

He started the car. As they drove past the stand, Lalo caught the old man’s eye and winked. The expression on his face did a lot to bring back Lalo’s good mood.

***

They enjoyed a couple hours of easy driving along the coast before hitting the city. Fuel exhaust undercut the fresh ocean breeze. Lalo wrinkled his nose. There was a place in Ixtapa he liked that was far away from any urban centers. Perhaps he’d take Ciro there later in the summer. It would be fun to fuck him on the beach, but there wasn’t enough privacy here for anything like that.

However, Puerto Vallarta had its charms and was much better for company. Lalo vacillated between extremes—loving the high life with parties and clubs and the rest of the social swirl for a little while until it became too much. Then he’d snap and retreat to his sanctuary for a month or three until he either got lonely or was called to duty.

He was getting close to that snapping point—the business with the Sinaloans had been exhausting. But he wanted one last hurrah before taking his pet home. Besides, Ciro was worth showing off. Maybe Ricardo would be there—he often was this time of year. Hopefully he’d finally ditched Jesús. Ricardo’s boys usually had expiration dates, but Jesús had managed to stick around a few years now. Maybe he’d have someone new for Ciro to hang out with. Lalo enjoyed Ciro’s adoration, but he didn’t want him clinging to him like a barnacle every second of the day.

Ciro’s eyes widened as they pulled in front of the resort—not the crowded “luxury” hotels of the tourists, but a private boutique hotel in the old Spanish colonial style. A valet approached them as Lalo stopped the car. As he tossed the man his keys, Ciro got out and made for the trunk.

“What are you doing?” Lalo asked.

“Getting our luggage.”

Lalo laughed. “Someone will see to that!” He put an arm around Ciro’s shoulders and pulled him in, laying a quick kiss on his temple. “Come on, let’s get checked in.”

They stepped through the wrought iron door and into the central courtyard. Wide arches encircled them, supported by marble Roman columns as white as the bleached beaches just outside. Water burbled in the bronze fountain in the center, flowing over the feet of a statue of an angel. She held a finger to her lips, as if keeping a secret.

Through the French doors and then they were at the check-in desk. A pretty young woman greeted them. “And may I ask what name your reservation is under, señor?”

Before Lalo could respond, an older woman in a suit with her dark hair in a tight bun approached them, her face stretched into a smile. “Lalo, so good to have you back with us!”

Lalo grinned. “Good to see you, too, Marta.”

“Your usual suite is ready.” Her eyes swept over Ciro, who had his hands in his pockets and was staring at the ground.

Lalo nudged him. “Ciro, this is Marta—she’s been taking care of me here for years now. Marta, this is my friend Ciro.”

Marta held out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Ciro removed a hand from his pocket and shook hers, but didn’t look her in the eye. Why was he so nervous?

Lalo put a hand on the small of his back. “You want to walk around or go to our room?”

“Room,” he said right away.

They took the private elevator to Lalo’s usual suite. Lalo opened the door and led Ciro inside. An enormous four-poster bed caught the eye first—it looked like it belonged in the chambers of some medieval king. A crystal chandelier tingled overhead, catching the light streaming in from the French doors, which lead to their private terrace and pool.

Ciro’s mouth dropped open. “ _This_ is where we’re staying?”

“You like it?” At Ciro’s enthusiastic nod, Lalo laughed. “Go on, take a look!”

Lalo shut the door as Ciro wandered around the suite, first to the sitting area with a sofa, two armchairs, and a flatscreen TV. Beyond that was the bathroom with a spacious shower encased in glass doors and a claw-footed bathtub just big enough for two. Lalo came up behind Ciro and wrapped his arms around him.

“We’ll take a bath later, yeah?” He pressed a kiss to Ciro’s neck and breathed in his scent—a light, earthy musk, distinctly male. His cock stirred as he pressed up against Ciro’s backside.

But Ciro didn’t melt the way he usually did in his arms. Lalo pulled away and turned him around. “Something wrong?”

Ciro bit his lip. “It’s just—I feel like I don’t belong here.”

“Don’t belong?” Lalo frowned. “What do you mean?”

He swept a hand around. “This is all so…expensive.”

Lalo was going to retort that Ciro was also expensive: ₱130,000 and a minivan, and that was just the down payment. But he didn’t think Ciro would appreciate the joke.

Ciro gestured to himself—his faded T-shirt with the small hole in the collar, his threadbare jeans. “And look at me. Anyone sees me when you aren’t around and I’ll probably get kicked out.”

Lalo took him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Ciro. If I say you belong here, then you do.” He pulled him in and pressed his lips against his ear. “You are mine, and I brought you here to enjoy you. You think anyone would dare interfere with that?”

That did it. Ciro let out a shuddering sigh and relaxed in his arms, his lips parting sweetly for a kiss. When the kiss ended, Ciro seemed more at ease.

Someone knocked on the door. Lalo answered it while Ciro explored the terrace. It was a bellboy with their luggage—Lalo’s three cases and Ciro’s tattered duffle bag. After he deposited the bags in the walk-in closet, Lalo tipped him and sent him on his way. Ciro came back in. The sun framed his form in the doorway, making him glow like a young Apollo. Or no, not Apollo—Ciro lacked the vicious arrogance of a god. Hyacinth, then—young, beautiful, achingly vulnerable.

Did that make Lalo Apollo? Apollo never meant to hurt Hyacinth, but he died all the same. Unease pricked him for the second time that day.

Lalo clapped his hands, loud enough to derail that particular train of thought. “So!” he said too brightly. “You want to go walk around? Take a swim down at the big pool?”

Ciro scuffed his foot. “I didn’t pack a swim suit.”

Lalo scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, I didn’t bring one either. We’ll go shopping tomorrow.” Lalo had meant to buy him a new wardrobe, anyway. He was still deciding how best to dress him. He probably wouldn’t change much—he liked his country boy just the way he was. It might be fun to see him in some other looks, though. Lalo loved a good makeover.

Lalo waggled his eyebrows. “But we don’t need suits to go swimming in our pool here.”

Ciro colored. “La-lo,” he said in that singsong way of his when he was embarrassed. “It’s outside! What if someone sees?”

“How would anyone see? We’re on the second floor!” Lalo laughed at Ciro’s expression. “Well, maybe later, when it’s dark. We can still check out the pool deck and see what’s on the menu at the restaurant.”

They freshened up and returned downstairs. Lalo showed Ciro around—through the courtyard and out to the gardens, their shoes clicking on the cobblestones as the smell of flowers wafted along the cool sea breeze. They stopped by the open-air restaurant—it was only 3pm, so neither of them were hungry yet, but they paged through the menu. Lalo was a fan of their _chile rellenos_ , but the waiter said the salmon was excellent that day.

At last they made their way to the sparkling blue pool. As luck would have it, Ricardo was there, reclining on a deck chair and enjoying the sun. He wore khaki shorts and a floral shirt unbuttoned all the way, exposing his torso. All his hair was gray—the smattering on his chest, his pencil mustache, and his now-thinning hair. It took Lalo aback. Ricardo was about seven or eight years older than Lalo, but Lalo hadn’t really thought much of it before. He looked so…old.

Less lucky was that Jesús was there, too, laid out face down on a chair beside him. Unlike Ricardo, he didn’t look a day older, even though he must be pushing thirty at least. His hair was bleached blond this time, and he was wearing nothing but a thong.

Lalo cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ricardo!”

Ricardo sat up, his face breaking out in a smile. He nudged Jesús. “ _Conejito,_ look who it is!”

Jesús pushed himself up on his elbows. He looked about as thrilled to see Lalo as Lalo was to see him.

Lalo took Ciro’s hand. “Come on, let me introduce you to my friend.”

They crossed the pool deck. Jesús was sitting up cross-legged on his chair now. His eyebrows flew halfway up his forehead as he took in Ciro. Lalo ignored him and turned to Ricardo, who had risen to embrace him. They kissed cheeks and hugged, patting each other on the back and laughing.

“And where have you been?” Ricardo asked. “It’s been ages!”

“Oh, you know. Work.” Ricardo knew who Lalo was, but they avoided talking about it. He was from old money, tracing his lineage back to the colonial days. _All fortunes are soaked in blood_ , he’d remarked once, and they left it at that. Lalo put a hand on Ciro’s back. “This is my friend, Ciro.”

It was Ricardo’s turn to give Ciro a once over, but he recovered quickly. He held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Ciro,” he said warmly as Ciro shook it.

Jesús stood and hip checked Ricardo out of the way. “And since everyone is being rude, I guess I’ll have to introduce myself. Jesús—so lovely to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Ciro said bashfully.

Jesús met Lalo’s gaze briefly, but then shaded his eyes with one hand and made a show of scanning the area.

“You looking for something?” Ricardo asked.

“Oh, just seeing if there were any empty cradles lying around.” Lalo and Ciro both flushed, but before Lalo could say anything, Jesús flashed his teeth. “Kidding!” He swooped in and kissed Lalo’s cheeks. “So _good_ to see you, Eduardo.” He turned to Ciro. “You planning on swimming in that?”

Ciro opened his mouth to respond, but Lalo beat him to it. “This was an impromptu trip. I’m taking him shopping tomorrow.”

Jesús made a neutral _hmm_ before turning to Ciro again. “I can lend you a suit, if you want. Seems like we’re about the same size.”

“Oh, I-I don’t know,” Ciro stammered. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“No, I insist!” Jesús pulled on a gauzy cover-up and then hooked their arms together. “Come on, let me take you to our room.” When Ciro looked to Lalo and Ricardo, Jesús tugged him. “Oh, they’ll be fine. It will give them a chance to talk about their favorite fiber supplements or whatever. Let’s go.”

Lalo considered stopping them, but he wouldn’t mind seeing Ciro in one of Jesús’s suits. Besides, hadn’t he wanted Ciro to have a friend here? He just hoped he wasn’t a bad influence. Lalo and Ricardo watched the two of them of them go. Jesús was annoying, but he did have a great ass.

“Wherever did you find him?” Ricard asked once they were out of sight.

“A stable, if you can believe it. He was mucking out the stalls.”

Ricardo chuckled. “A real country boy. Very nice.”

They sat down. Lalo waved over a member of the staff and ordered a mojito. “Kind of surprised to see Jesús still around. What’s it been, three years?”

“Four.”

“I remember when we met, you had a new boy every six months.”

Ricardo sighed. “A young man’s game. I’ve become quite set in my ways, and he takes good care of me.” He took a sip of his margarita. “I don’t understand why you can’t get along.”

Lalo threw his hands up. “I don’t know either! I’m a nice guy!”

Lalo’s drink arrived. A few cooling sips eased his temper. He laid back on the chair and shut his eyes against the relentless brightness of the day, but the sun wouldn’t be denied. Red and orange swirled under his closed lids. Ricardo, of all people, settling down. The thought was ridiculous.

But somehow, he didn’t feel like laughing.

***

Ciro tried not to stare as Jesús took him to the other side of the hotel, but everything about him seemed engineered to grab attention. His impossible hair color, the belly button ring winking in the sun, that leopard print thong… He was everything that Ciro had been terrified of being once he figured out he was gay. But Jesús exuded confidence, even with the way everyone stared as they passed. Or maybe it was because of it—a lot of the stares were appreciative. Ciro envied him—he wished he felt so sure of himself.

They hopped up a stone staircase painted with flowers to reach the suite. It differed from his and Lalo’s in the details, but just as grand. Ciro stood awkwardly by the door as Jesús headed for the walk-in closet. But instead of going in, he turned around and put his hands on his hips. “Well, don’t lurk in the doorway, _chico_ —get those cute little buns in here.”

Ciro cheeks flamed, but he did as he was told.

“I am so glad you showed up—finally someone _real_ in this fake-ass place. Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

Ciro was going to say no, but his stomach fluttered with nerves. The last time he drank hadn’t ended well, but he’d make sure not to go overboard this time. “Sure.”

“Great, I could use one too.”

Jesús led him to the terrace. A small bar had been set up by the side of the pool. Jesús approached it. “So what’ll it be?”

His nerves got worse. He had no idea what to ask for. “I dunno, whatever.”

Jesús tapped a finger to his lips “Hmm. Something sweet, I think.” He set to work and soon presented Ciro with an orange concoction garnished with a slice of orange on the side. “Tequila Sunrise.”

Ciro took a cautious sip. It was delicious—he could barely taste the alcohol.

“Good, right? Just don’t drink it too fast, ‘kay?”

Ciro took a seat by the pool while Jesús made his own drink—just some brown liquor over ice, not fancy like the one he’d made Ciro. “That’s how me and Ricardo met—I was tending bar. I’d like to think it was my great ass that drew him in, but I’m pretty sure my exquisite gin martinis sealed the deal.” Jesús plopped down in the chair beside Ciro and flashed him a smile. “So, where are you from?”

How to answer? “Nowhere.”

“What a coincidence—me too!”

Ciro laughed and sipped his cocktail.

“How’d you and Eduardo meet?” he continued. “Not at a club, I think.”

Ciro shook his head. “No, we met at the stable where I work. Or well, worked.”

“Worked, past tense?”

“Yeah, I’m going to live with Lalo now.”

Jesús’s eyebrows twitched. “Is that so? How long have you known each other?”

Ciro thought about it. “I don’t know, a month?”

Instead of responding, Jesús drained his glass. “Gosh, it’s hot out here. I think I’ll have another.” He went to the bar and returned with another drink. “A whole month, huh?”

Ciro’s cheeks heated. “I know it’s not a long time. But he was going to leave—”

“—and you wanted out of nowhere, am I right? I’ve been there.” Jesús picked up a pack of cigarettes on the table beside him and lit one. “But doesn’t he also live in nowhere?”

“I like the country. I’m going to look after his horses for him.”

“Wait, he hired you?”

Ciro rubbed his neck. “Sort of. That’s what we told my mom, anyway.”

“And she bought it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on whether my sister told her about us. She said she wouldn’t, but…” He trailed off. “She hates Lalo. I mean, _really_ hates him.” His chest tightened as he remembered Rosa’s tear-streaked face. “She was so upset when I left.”

Jesús waved his cigarette. “Don’t get me started on sisters. I have seven, all older, always telling me what to do. They just don’t understand what guys like us go through.”

Ciro perked up. “Yeah, exactly! She wouldn’t listen.”

“But she means well, I’m sure. I mean, a whirlwind romance with an older man? Very romantic and all, but of course she’s concerned.” He pursed his lips. “Do you know who he is? I mean, who he _really_ is?”

“You mean, do I know he’s a narco? Yeah, I do.”

Jesús let out his breath in a relieved puff. “Oh thank God, I thought I was going to have to break it to you. But no wonder your sister is worried! Moving in with a narco?” He held up a hand to stop Ciro’s objection. “I’m not judging you. Like I said, I get it. And I’ve had narco dick—it’s intoxicating, although it gives me heartburn. But you need to be practical. What’s going to happen if it doesn’t work out?”

Ciro stiffened. “It _will_ work out. We’re in love.”

Jesús blinked rapidly. Ciro puffed up, prepared for a fight. But Jesús didn’t give it to him. “I’m sorry,” he said instead. “I didn’t realize it was serious.”

Ciro deflated. “Well, it is.”

They drank in silence for a few minutes. Jesús finished his cigarette and lit another. “You say he hired you to look after his horses? How much is he going to pay you?”

“I don’t know. We never talked about it. He gave my mom some money to help out…” He frowned as the memory wobbled in his mind—Lalo’s generosity shifted to something more…transactional. He shook his head. _No_. “I’m not going to ask him to pay me. I’m not a-a—” He couldn’t finish the thought.

Jesús laid a gentle hand on his knee. “Of course you aren’t, _chico_. But everyone needs money, right? So you don’t want to ask him for a salary—I get it, it’s too tawdry. But surely there are things that you need—ask for money to get them. And don’t be shy—you aren’t asking him for a favor, you’re getting him off.”

Ciro cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

Jesús laughed. “Buying you stuff will make his dick _so_ hard. And the more you ask for, the harder it gets. Ricardo practically creams himself when we go shopping. You’ll see. Always ask for more than what you need and tuck the rest away. It’s what I do.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Make him buy you a car.”

“I can’t drive.”

Jesús rubbed his temple. “How long are you staying here for?”

Ciro shrugged. “I don’t know. A week or two?”

“Not a lot of time, but I’ll teach you the basics. Ricardo just got me a zippy little Ferrari—you’ll love it. And then you can take your new car and go shopping while he’s off doing whatever it is narcos do. Or drive down to visit me.” Jesús smiled. “I’m glad we got that settled!”

Ciro bit his lip. “Do you really think he’d buy me a car?”

“Oh, sure. I mean, he bought a car for Francisco, why not you?”

Ciro’s heart stuttered. “Who’s Francisco?”

“The boy before you.” Jesús slapped him lightly on the arm. “Don’t give me that wounded puppy look! Surely you didn’t think you were his only boyfriend.”

When he put it like that... “Were there lots of others?”

Jesús clucked his tongue. “What do you think?”

Ciro looked down at his drink glumly. Jesús nudged him with his foot. “But hey, you’re the first one he’s ever brought home, if that makes you feel better.”

It did, actually. Ciro smiled a little. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He paused. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “How is it?”

Ciro’s brow furrowed. “How is what?”

“The dick, of course! What else would I mean?”

Ciro nearly choked laughing. Jesús joined in. “It’s amazing,” Ciro said once they’d caught their breath.

Jesús threw his hands in the air. “Ugh, it figures! The smug bastard. Well, you enjoy it, _chico_. Just take care of yourself, okay? Keep your independence. Don’t let him control you.” He pointed at him. “You don’t let him come in you, do you?”

Ciro’s cheeks flamed. “Uh, n-no, he used a condom.”

“Used _a_ condom? Singular?”

Ciro’s face got hotter. “Well, he’s only—the once.”

Jesús stared at him. “He’s fucked you _once_ and he’s decided to take you home with him?” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Well, shit. Maybe it is true love. Anyway, make sure to keep it wrapped. He’s not always picky where he puts it.”

“But he’s with me now. He’s not going to…” Ciro trailed off. They hadn’t had a conversation about it. There was a lot they hadn’t talked about. “He loves me,” Ciro said firmly, not sure if he was trying to convince Jesús or himself.

“ _Chico_ , love’s got nothing to do with it. You can’t take it personal.” He put out his cigarette and gestured to Ciro’s drink. “You want another?”

Ciro drank down the last of it and nodded. He eyed the cigarettes. “Can I have one of those?”

“Sure.” Jesús handed him the pack and the lighter. Ciro took one out and put it in his between his lips. He wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Oh my God, is this your first cigarette?” Jesús laughed. “I am a terrible influence. Here.” He took the lighter back from Ciro and flicked it on. “Hold the end in the flame and suck in.”

Ciro did it and then fell in to a fit of coughing. Jesús patted him on the back and gave him a sip of his drink. It burned his throat and made him cough harder.

“Oh shit, I’ve killed you!” Jesús said, laughing, which only made Ciro worse since he started laughing, too. Jesús fetched him some water. After he got a hold of himself, he took another puff.

“You don’t have to finish that,” Jesús said.

“I want to.” There was something almost soothing about it now that he was getting the hang of it. The nicotine perked him up while the alcohol chilled him out—a perfect combo.

Jesús gave his back one last pat. “C’mon, let’s go pick out a suit for you.”

“Not a thong,” Ciro said.

Jesús pouted. “You’d look great in a thong! But fine, I’m sure I have something more modest, if you insist.”

After Ciro finished his cigarette, he headed for the closet while Jesús made his drink. Jesús had an entire drawer of suits, none of which could be classified as modest. Ciro finally found a blue one that looked like it would at least cover his entire ass. He went into the bathroom to try it on—it fit. When he came out, Jesús was waiting for him with his drink. He whistled appreciatively.

Ciro put his hands in front of himself, but Jesús clucked his tongue. “No getting shy now! Here—” He put his drink in one hand and took the other in his, tugging him to the full-length mirror. “Look at yourself.”

Ciro forced himself to look at his reflection. What he saw stunned him. They didn’t have a big mirror at home—just a little one in the bathroom, and he didn’t pay much attention to his body, anyway. But now that he really looked, he could see how handsome he was, with his strong, broad shoulders, muscular chest, and tight abs. The suit flattered his ass, too.

Jesús rested his chin on his shoulder. “Eduardo is going to lose his mind.”

Ciro grinned, but then sobered a little. “Why do you call him Eduardo?”

“Because he wants me to call him Lalo, and I’m not in the business of giving men what they want for free.” He shrugged. “And he just gives me a bad vibe, no offense. I mean, he is a narco.”

The memory of Lalo on top of Blanco covered in blood and laughing flashed through his mind. He shut his eyes and took a big gulp of his drink, and then another, until the memory dissolved. He knew who Lalo was.

But that didn’t mean he had to dwell on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you really want to hate your life, [check out the hotel I took inspiration from.](https://casakimberly.com/) I left out the Elizabeth Taylor angle, but I feel like Lalo would probably be into that. Kim and Jimmy, too, actually. 🤔
> 
> Coming up - shopping! And Ciro ignoring Jesús's advice! And...Lalo catching feelings? Yeah, I'm surprised too. That's just going to make things a million times more tragic when it all goes to shit. 😭


	10. Unbearable Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciro goes for a swim. Lalo confronts some unsettling feelings.

The first time Lalo saw Ciro nude had been in the moonlight.

He’d delayed it as much as possible, only exposing what was necessary to pleasure him. He wanted to save the full reveal for the night he deflowered him. But fabric would shift as Ciro writhed under him, exposing a sliver of belly, or offering a peek of his collar bone. Those brief glimpses drove him wild.

Ciro had spoiled his plans that night in the car, stripping off his shirt while he undulated in Lalo’s lap. He almost broke down and fucked him then and there. Lalo wasn’t a monk. There were limits to his self-denial. He held off, but couldn’t resist seeing him bare. The moonlight gave his skin an ethereal glow. It took his breath away.

But that was nothing compared to the sight of him now, all bronzed and shining in the sun as he made his way across the pool deck. He wore nothing but a skimpy blue suit and breezy open shirt as a coverup. Ciro smiled shyly when he met Lalo’s gaze. Would that shyness ever fade? He hoped not.

“Now there’s a sight,” Ricardo said appreciatively. “Maybe the four of us could have some fun later, hmm?”

A spike of anger surprised Lalo. The suggestion shouldn’t have offended—he and Ricardo often shared. Wasn’t that the whole point of bringing Ciro here—to be appreciated by his fellow connoisseurs? But the thought of anyone laying a finger on Ciro made his blood boil.

He was saved from having to respond by Jesús and Ciro’s arrival. They both had drinks in their hands. Ciro set his on the table beside Lalo’s mojito and leaned down for a kiss. Lalo tasted orange in his mouth, and…

“Have you been smoking, _pájarito_?” he asked with a half-laugh. He gestured at the drink. “And how many of those have you had?”

Ciro bit his lip, but Jesús cut in before he could answer. “It was my fault, Papí. Please don’t ground him!”

Ricardo and Jesús laughed. Lalo joined in a beat too late, biting back his annoyance.

“What a naughty boy you are,” Ricardo said to Jesús before addressing Lalo again. “You can spank him, if you want.”

Jesús feigned outrage and smacked Ricardo on the arm. “Now who’s being naughty?” He took off his cover and draped it over a chair. “You want to swim?” he asked Ciro.

“Sure.”

Jesús came up behind him and slid Ciro’s shirt off his shoulders—a mini strip tease. He met Lalo’s gaze, and seemed amused by whatever he saw there.

Ciro grabbed his drink and drained it, and then they were off. Jesús headed for the pool stairs, but Ciro jumped in with a joyful shout. He swam over to Jesús and splashed him. Jesús splashed him back, then leaned in to say something in Ciro’s ear. They both looked at Lalo and laughed. Lalo tried not to scowl but wasn’t sure how successful he was.

He turned his gaze away only to find Ricardo staring at him. “What?” he asked.

“You’re annoyed,” Ricardo said, surprise in his voice. “Truly annoyed! Surely Jesús’s little barbs aren’t getting to you? You know how he is.”

He shrugged. “I can take a joke.” And he could. Usually.

Ricardo rubbed his chin, considering him. “You didn’t like when I suggested sharing,” he said at last. “You only had to say, you know. We won’t touch your _pájarito_ if you don’t want us to.”

His _pájarito_. Something fluttered in his chest. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

“I don’t blame you for being protective,” Ricardo went on. “He seems very sweet.” A pause. “Were you his first?”

Lalo gazed at Ciro. His skin was even more luminescent wet. “Yes.”

“Ah. That’s a special bond.”

Lalo finished his drink and gestured to the server for another. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

By the time Lalo had finished his next drink, some of his irritation had eased. He was being ridiculous. It was a gorgeous day in paradise, and he was among friends. Ciro seemed to be having a great time. Jesús had fetched a floaty to recline on, but Ciro stayed in the water, doing laps around the pool. He was an excellent swimmer, his powerful arms cutting through the water.

“You know, human beings aren’t meant to live past twenty-five, thirty at the most,” Lalo said, breaking the silence. “Back in the stone ages, a lion would get you, or disease, or some other caveman would bash your brains in to steal your mate. So what are two old fucks like us still doing around?” 

Ricardo shook his head and chuckled. “Oh dear. This is all making a great deal more sense. Have we bought ourselves a new car, too?”

Lalo laughed. “Hey man, if you go by the usual life expectancy of guys in my profession, I had my midlife crisis when I was ten.” He sobered. “My mom died six months ago. Cancer.”

Ricardo made a sympathetic sound. “I’m so sorry to hear it.”

“Thanks.” He wasn’t going to say more, but the alcohol had loosened his tongue. “I just realized how alone I am.”

Ricardo nodded. “Having money is isolating. I can imagine things only get more complicated for a man in your position. Who can you trust?”

“Only family,” Lalo said automatically. It was a lesson beaten into Salamanca children: family is everything. Conversely, anyone who isn’t family is nothing. They made exceptions when it was time for a Salamanca to marry—that’s how families propagate, after all. But Lalo could never marry, which left him with a string of nothings in his bed, who he dropped before their inevitable betrayal.

He tried to picture Ciro betraying him. It beggared the imagination.

“But you can’t fuck your family,” Ricardo continued.

Lalo pulled himself back to the conversation and laughed. “At least I wouldn’t. I have some cousins I wonder about, though.”

Lalo turned his attention back to Ciro just in time to see a server hand him another fruity drink as he sat on the edge of the pool. Lalo jumped to his feet and strode to his side, plucking the drink away from him right before he took a sip. “You’ve had enough, Cirito,” he said, keeping his tone light but firm.

“I’m fine!” Ciro said. “It won’t be like last time, I promise.”

“Oooohh,” Jesús said from his floaty. “That sounds like a story.”

Lalo saw his own discomfort reflected in Ciro’s expression. Not a memory either of them wanted to dwell on. Lalo shot an annoyed look at Jesús and then glanced at his watch. “We should get dressed for dinner.”

Jesús pouted. “Please, Papí—five more minutes?”

Lalo ignored him. “Come on, Ciro.”

But Ciro had slipped back into the water. “You should borrow a suit and swim too. The water feels great!”

“Plenty of time for that later,” Lalo said through clenched teeth. “Come on, get out.”

“I will if you give me my drink back.” His eyes shone with mischief. His little songbird was a little fish too, it seemed, and too cute for Lalo to stay mad for long.

“All right, fine.” He crouched by the pool. “Come and get it.”

Ciro swam over. Lalo held the drink above his head, intending to steal a kiss when he reached for it. Instead, Ciro grabbed his arm, causing Lalo to become unbalanced and tumble headfirst into the pool.

He surfaced to the sound of Jesús’s hysterical laughter. Ciro’s eyes were big. “I’m so sorry, Lalo! Are you okay?”

Lalo wiped his hair out of his face and blinked several times. The glass that had contained Ciro’s drink floated by. Then he started laughing too. “You little brat!” He lunged for Ciro. “Get over here!”

Ciro glided to the other side of the pool. Lalo made as if to go after him, but turned midway and upended Jesús’s floaty, sending him into the pool as well.

“My hair!” Jesús wailed when he surfaced.

Lalo closed the distance between him and Ciro, who was not trying very hard to get away. Lalo pounced and pulled them both below the surface. He opened his eyes—Ciro’s hair floated around his head like a dark halo. Lalo reeled him in for an underwater kiss.

By the time they came up for air, Jesús was already out of the pool, his formerly well-coiffed hair lying flat on his head. He put his hands on his hips. “Guess I was wrong—no adults here, just little boys.” But he was smiling.

Lalo swept one arm under Ciro’s knees and another under his back. Ciro yelped and hung on as Lalo carried him out of the water. Ciro was not light, but Lalo had the knees of a man half his age. Once they were out of the water, Lalo set him down briefly, only to throw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Ciro squawked. “I can walk, Lalo!”

Lalo smacked his ass, eliciting another yelp. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.” He grinned at Jesús and Ricardo, who were laughing. “If you’ll excuse us.”

They must have made quite a sight—Lalo fully clothed and dripping wet, hauling an equally wet but nearly naked Ciro across the courtyard. One guest whistled—Lalo gave him a wave. Only when they were at last in their room did Lalo release him, but Ciro didn’t go far. He wrapped his arms around Lalo’s neck and kissed him.

Lalo untangled himself, laughing. “I need to get out of these clothes.”

“Let me help.” Ciro fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Between the two of them, they got Lalo undressed, leaving his wet clothes and shoes in the middle of the floor. A swift tug was all that was necessary before Ciro was naked as well.

They fell to the bed, wrapped around each other, and kissed until they were breathless. Ciro pulled back first. “Let me make it up to you,” he said, trying for sultry but giggling too much to manage it. He kissed his way down Lalo’s body until he reached his cock, already rock-hard. Ciro grabbed ahold of it without hesitation and took it in his mouth. His enthusiasm got the better of him, and he gagged.

“Easy, easy,” Lalo said, touching his cheek. “Slow down, _cariño_. We’re not in hurry, are we?”

Ciro rested his face on Lalo’s thigh and made a frustrated sound. “You’re always telling me to slow down! I’m going crazy—please, Lalo, I need you.”

Something in Lalo stirred. He cupped Ciro’s face. “You have me, _mi pájarito_.”

Ciro kissed his palm before turning his attention back to his cock. Instead of taking it in his mouth, he licked from the base to the tip. He did it again, and again, pausing at the base sometimes to mouth at his balls, and sometimes at the top to run his tongue over the head. Just when Lalo thought he’d lose his mind from the teasing, Ciro took his cock into his mouth. His head bobbed as he found his rhythm.

Lalo’s toes curled as pleasure pulsed through him, and he cursed himself for admonishing Ciro to take it slow. He made shallow thrusts upward, hoping he’d take the hint. He did, speeding up his movements. Christ, how was he so good at this already? Lalo’s climax was fast approaching—he rarely came so quick.

He tugged at Ciro’s shoulder. “I’m close.”

Ciro ignored him and sped up. He did something with his tongue that sent a bolt of pleasure like lightning straight through his core. Lalo cried out and came helplessly, emptying himself in Ciro’s mouth.

It took him a minute to come back to himself, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Ciro had come up to lie beside him, his nose crinkled in distaste.

Lalo laughed. “I tried to warn you!”

He set his jaw. “I know—I wanted you to.” Lalo wondered at his stubborn expression, but it disappeared as he made a sour face again. “I, uh, spat it out.”

Lalo chuckled. “It’s an acquired taste.” He put a hand on the back of Ciro’s neck. “Come here.”

He kissed him softly, enjoying the taste of himself in Ciro’s mouth mixed with the tang of the cocktail and a hint of tobacco. Ciro pressed against him, his hard cock insistent against Lalo’s thigh.

Lalo wrapped a hand around it. “Look at me,” he murmured.

Ciro obeyed. His eyes were like mirrors—Lalo could see himself reflected in them, dark and distorted. It didn’t take long for Ciro to reach his own climax, those mirror eyes of his mercifully fluttering shut as he moaned and spilled in Lalo’s hand. He wiped it off on the comforter.

“I love you,” Ciro sighed.

The first time Ciro had confessed his love, Lalo had been amused. Barely a month and he had captured Ciro’s heart completely. The totality of his victory made up for the disappointing ease of his conquest.

He didn’t think it was funny anymore. 

Ciro rested his head on Lalo’s chest. “’m tired,” he said with a yawn.

Lalo stroked his damp hair. “Then take a nap, _mi amor_. I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.”

He continued his gentle strokes until Ciro’s breathing slowed and evened. Only when he was sure Ciro was fast asleep did he extract himself, leaving Ciro sleeping on his stomach. He was so beautiful in the sunlight streaming through the French doors, his warm, brown skin in stark contrast with the white comforter. Lalo averted his gaze, overcome by a feeling he couldn’t place—some unsettling mixture of tenderness and shame. He couldn't bear to look at him.

Lalo went to the closet and pulled on a robe. He’d have room service sent up to them, he decided. Let Ciro sleep however long he wanted. He wouldn't wake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did a lot of reworking of the outline - we're looking at 18 - 20 chapters, plus an epilogue. It's gone in a different direction than I originally intended, but we're still headed for disaster. Lalo likes being in control. These feelings make him afraid that he's losing that. He...does not handle it well, as you can probably imagine.
> 
> And I've made a playlist, which you can check out [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/56dv2in8e5MxKTHmLcfGKo?si=vxhFI6JwSu23RM-Qk7lNag) (It's got all the songs Lalo sings to Ciro!) The songs are in chronological order for the story - so, uh, spoilers, sort of? I'm really pleased with the ending and I think you will be too. Tragic, but satisfying.


	11. My Soul Would Sing of Metamorphosis

The sun rose before Ciro did.

He’d always been an early bird. Even on his days off, he woke before sunrise. It was strange to wake up and have the sun already there, peering in through the glass doors. He stretched, feeling for Lalo, but there was no one beside him, and the bed was cold.

Ciro got up and looked around the suite. No Lalo. Where had he gone? His heart stuttered, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like Lalo would leave him here. He probably went to get breakfast or something.

He headed to the bathroom. After using the toilet, he took a shower. He was sticky and wonderfully sore. When he’d woken from his nap yesterday, he and Lalo had dinner in bed and then spent the rest of the evening making love. It was even better than their first night together. Ciro was more sure of himself. He’d climbed on top of Lalo and rode him like one of his horses, losing himself the way he did on the trail. Having Lalo in between his legs was that feeling times a million. It was what he’d been chasing for years, since he was twelve and figuring out he didn’t want to kiss girls, since he was fifteen and watched his dad and brother die, since he was eighteen with no prospects and no clue what to do with himself.

He was hollow before. Lalo filled him.

Ciro dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist. A new toothbrush still in plastic sat in a cup by the sink, along with a tiny tube of toothpaste. As he brushed his teeth, his gaze fell on the wastebasket. Two used condoms lay inside it—one full of Lalo’s come, and the other torn. The sex last night had been vigorous. As soon as the condom broke, Lalo stopped to replace it. Ciro had asked him if it was really necessary, but Lalo had just chuckled. _A bad habit to get in, cariño_.

He’d been too blissed out to think properly, but now in the light of day, the line worried him. What habit did he mean? For himself or for Ciro? Was he going to continue to fuck other guys? Did he expect Ciro to?

He spat and rinsed his mouth, then headed to the walk-in closet to get dressed. After opening his dufflebag, he hesitated. His old T-shirts and worn jeans seemed so out of place here. Borrow an outfit from Lalo? They weren’t that different in size, but he couldn’t picture himself in Lalo’s clothes. Would Jesús lend him something? But that seemed wrong, too.

Two terrycloth robes hung from the closet rods. Ciro’s mind flashed to their first time together—how Lalo had ordered him not to get dressed again. He’d worn nothing but a robe as they ate dinner. He could tell it had excited Lalo; it’d excited him, too. The memory warmed him. Ciro slid the robe on and climbed back into bed to wait for Lalo to return. He could decide what Ciro should wear. Maybe after they had sex again.

He didn’t have to wait long. Lalo came in with a cup of coffee and a paper bag. He wore white pants, a shirt with light green palm trees, and blue loafers—a breezier look than Ciro was used to seeing him in. His whole demeanor had shifted subtly since arriving at Casa del Edén. Lalo on vacation.

“Good morning, _dormilón_ ,” he said as he approached him. “Wasn’t sure you’d be up. You get enough rest?”

Ciro nodded. Lalo sat on the edge of the bed and handed Ciro the coffee and the paper bag. “Breakfast.”

The bag was filled with conchas. Ciro selected one piece of bread with a crusty pink top and bit into it—flaky and sweet. “You gonna bring me all my meals in bed from now on?”

“Ah, you’ve discovered my wicked plan!” He ran his finger along the lapel of Ciro’s robe. “You took a shower but didn’t get dressed?”

Instead of answering, Ciro put the bread aside and threw himself at Lalo, kissing him and reaching for his belt. Lalo pulled back and laughed. “Again already? Aren’t you sore?”

“Yeah, but I like it.”

Lalo’s eyebrows shot up. “You like being sore?”

Ciro flushed. “Yeah. It’s like I can still feel you inside me.”

Lalo sucked in a breath and let it out in a chuckle. The heat in his eyes burned Ciro’s skin. Lalo ran his fingers through Ciro’s damp curls and then gripped his hair tightly. “You enjoy a little pain, Cirito?”

Ciro’s cock sprung to life. “Yeah.” It came out in a whine that would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t so turned on. Back in high school, some of his classmates had gotten ahold of a dirty magazine. They snickered at the pictures of the girls, trussed up on the bed or tied to a chair, gags in their mouths. One picture had a girl bent over some man’s knee, her ass beaten red. It had left Ciro confused more than anything, but the memory rushed to him now as he imagined his own ass reddened from Lalo’s hand. The arousal made him dizzy.

Lalo pulled Ciro’s head back, exposing his neck. A shudder ripped through him as Lalo raked his teeth over his skin. “The things I could do to you…” His voice was rich with dark promises.

“Yes,” Ciro gasped as his eyes fluttered shut. “Do anything, anything you want—”

Lalo released him abruptly. Ciro’s eyes flew open. Lalo had turned away from him. “And what if I don’t want to hurt you?” he asked quietly.

Ciro struggled to form a response. “But you won’t,” he said finally. “Not for real. I’m not afraid.”

Lalo rubbed his face and then gave Ciro’s leg a pat. “Eat your breakfast. We’ll go out today, have some fun.” He headed for the sitting area and picked up a newspaper from the coffee table.

Dismissed. Ciro’s stomach fell, but he did what he was told and choked down a concha. Why had Lalo pulled away? What had Ciro done wrong? He wanted to follow Lalo to the couch but feared being put off again.

Just as Ciro finished his coffee, there was a knock on the door. Lalo answered it. Ciro couldn’t see who it was, but there was no mistaking the voice. “Please, _señor_ , can Ciro come out and play?”

Lalo’s shoulders stiffened. Clearly he was sick of the joke. Ciro was, too. Jesús and Ricardo had about the same number of years between them as he and Lalo did—it was hypocritical of him to keep harping on it.

But when Lalo responded, his tone was light. “That depends on the game.”

“Shopping spree! And then we’ll do lunch and the beach. You and Ricardo can come too. I’ve got a little something for Ciro, if you’ll let me in.”

Lalo stepped aside and Jesús whooshed into the room, dressed in white shorts and a neon pink tank top. He carried clothes over one arm. “Morning, _chico_! I brought you something to try on.”

Ciro flushed—he really must have looked shabby yesterday. He got out of bed and accepted the clothes—bright green pants and what looked like half of a canary yellow shirt.

“Go on,” Jesús said. “Get changed!”

Ciro looked to Lalo first, who nodded his approval. He crossed the room to the closet. After putting on some underwear, he squirmed into the tight pants. The shirt was a crop top, stopping right above his belly button. He studied his reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of the closet door. Everything about the outfit screamed for attention—too tight around his ass and flaunting his torso, all in colors more suited to a parrot than a country boy like him. He felt ridiculous.

Was this how Francisco and all of Lalo’s other boys dressed? The icy specter of Lalo’s past breathed ice down the back of his neck. There had been so many of them. What if Ciro didn’t measure up? Was that why Lalo pulled away? Growing sick of him already?

“Well?” Jesús called. “Do they fit?”

Ciro took a deep breath and stepped out of the closet. Jesús and Lalo both stood just outside the door. Ciro started to rub his neck as they looked at him, but that just made his shirt ride up more, so he put his arm back down.

Jesús grinned and turned to Lalo. “I’m a genius.”

Lalo laughed. “He looks good!”

“You think so?” Ciro bit his lip.

Lalo swept him into his arms and kissed him. “ _Mi pájarito del Paraiso_ ,” Lalo declared. His bird of paradise. Whatever strange mood Lalo had been in seemed to have passed—he was all smiles now. “You ready to spread your wings?”

Ciro nodded. He was still self-conscious, but if it made Lalo smile, he’d endure it.

He’d do anything to make Lalo happy.

* * *

The Zona Romantica was the heart of Puerta Vallarta, and Ciro felt the pulse of it with every step on the cobblestone street. Palm trees swayed under the jewel-blue sky as they passed by shops, restaurants, art galleries, and cafés on one side, with the sprawling Los Muertos Beach on the other, its golden sands peppered with colorful umbrellas.

And best of all, everywhere Ciro looked he saw guys like him. Men holding hands, men with arms around each other, even men kissing. No one gave them dirty looks or made threats. Lalo was right—this was a place they could truly relax.

They’d been shopping two hours now. Ciro and Jesús led the way, with Lalo and Ricardo trailing behind them, holding their bags. The clothes they’d tried on had all been some combination of short, tight, and colorful.

Lalo and Ricardo had enjoyed the show, just like Jesús said they would. Ciro’s eyes had bulged at the price tags—more than he used to make in a week for a shirt. He looked away as Lalo took out his wallet and pulled out bill after bill, handing it to the cashier like it was nothing. Like he had done with Ciro’s mother.

How many times had Lalo taken lovers shopping? Had they been better looking? More experienced? Less awkward? How long had they lasted in Lalo’s bed?

How long would Ciro last?

Jesús bumped him with his shoulder. “You okay?”

Ciro shook himself out of it and tried a smile. “Yeah. Just a little tired.”

“He give you a work out last night?” Jesús waggled his eyebrows.

Ciro couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah.”

Jesús smirked. “I remember when Ricardo and I first got together. He couldn’t get enough of me. Now he’s asleep before ten most nights.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Three years. Or is it four?” Jesús tapped his chin. “Yes, four next month. I’m so bad with dates.”

“Lalo and I met on my birthday,” Ciro said. “So it’ll be easy to remember our anniversary.”

He waited for Jesús to react—to see if he found the idea of Lalo celebrating an anniversary ridiculous. But all he did was hum. Ciro pressed on. “How long were he and Francisco together?”

“I don’t know. We only see Lalo once or twice a year. You’d have to ask him.”

“How many guys have you seen him with?”

Jesús gave him a look. “ _Chico_ , you go down that path and it’ll drive you nuts. Yes, he’s had a lot of guys. You think putting a number on it will make you feel any better?”

Ciro’s shoulders slumped. “I guess not.”

“But he’s with you now. So put it out of your head and enjoy yourself!” He sighed. “I remember my first love. His name was Antonio. He promised to take me places, and he did. Bastard broke my heart, but we had some good times.”

Ciro said nothing. He didn’t want Lalo to be just his first love—he wanted to be his _only_ love. The thought of being with anyone else made him queasy. “Are you and Ricardo in love?”

Jesús blinked. “ _Jesucristo_ , Ciro, give me some warning before you lay something like that on me.” He thought for a moment. “We take care of each other,” he said at last. “Don’t get me wrong—romance is great. But don’t knock practical until you’ve tried it.”

 _More like transactional_ , Ciro thought, but didn’t say. He didn’t want it to be that way with Lalo.

Jesús bumped him again. “Seriously, you’ll give yourself wrinkles making that face.” He stopped in front of a restaurant. “I know what you need—a margarita and some tacos.” He turned around to Lalo and Ricardo and gestured. “Lunch?”

Lalo and Ricardo caught up, and the four of them got a table outside. The margaritas appeared, garnished with lime wedges and rimmed with salt. Ciro waited for the others to drink first, to see how they handled the lime and the salt. He’d never had a margarita before.

“Not bad,” Ricardo said after taking a sip. “But nothing compares to the margaritas at—”

“—Pancho’s,” Lalo finished for him. “I can’t believe that place closed down.”

Ricardo shook his head. “A travesty.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Jesús said.

“Oh, it was long before we met,” Ricardo said. “It closed down in, what, ’87?”

“No! Has it really been ten years?” Lalo snapped his fingers. “Hey, what was the name of that bartender? You know, the little guy?”

Ricardo chuckled. “Shouldn’t you remember better than me? You took him home one night.”

“Yes! So he could show me his amazing—”

“—breath-control,” they said together, and fell into a fit of laughter.

Lalo and Ricardo continued to reminisce, with Jesús chiming in occasionally. Ciro slouched in his seat and said nothing. Ten years ago, he had been in middle school.

It was only after their food arrived that Lalo noticed he wasn’t taking part in the conversation. “You’re awfully quiet. You okay?”

Before he could answer, Jesús jumped in. “You two have bored him half to death with your old man ramblings.”

Ciro sputtered a denial, but it was drowned out by the others’ laughter. “Please accept my most humble apologies,” Ricardo said with an incline of his head.

“And mine as well, _mi amor_ ,” Lalo added, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

Ciro’s heart skipped a beat. The _mi amor_ was new, half-whispered yesterday afternoon while Ciro fell asleep in his arms, and now here out in front of the world. Just another endearment, or proof that Ciro was right about what Lalo felt for him?

“I know how you can make it up to him,” Jesús said, breaking the moment. “Get him a car.”

Lalo guffawed. “A car? That’s a steep price for being boring.” Lalo brought Ciro’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “I must make sure to keep you entertained.”

“I’m serious,” Jesús said. “If you’re going to move him to the middle of nowhere, he needs a car.”

Lalo dropped Ciro’s hand and shifted in his seat. “Ciro doesn’t have a license.”

Jesús gasped and put a hand to his chest. “Thank heavens you told me. We wouldn’t want him doing anything—” his voice dropped into a stage whisper— “ _illegal_.”

Ricardo laughed, but Lalo didn’t. His expression was like a dark cloud passing over the sun. He didn’t like the idea. Ciro wasn’t sure he did either.

“I don’t want a car,” Ciro said to Lalo, louder than he intended. “I don’t want anything but you.”

Lalo laughed, as if Ciro had told a joke, and turned to Ricardo. “See? Didn’t I tell you _mi pájarito_ sings the sweetest songs?”

Ciro flushed. “I mean it. I wouldn’t care if you had nothing. I’d still want to be with you.”

Lalo laughed again and patted his hand, as if Ciro were a little kid who had said something ridiculous in front of the grown-ups. Ciro’s eyes stung. He got to his feet and mumbled something about the bathroom before he really embarrassed himself.

“Way to go, Eduardo,” he heard Jesús say as he fled.

Ciro locked himself in a stall and sat on the toilet. He pressed his fingers into his eyes and willed the tears away. A few moments later, the bathroom door opened and Lalo’s blue shoes appeared outside the stall.

“Ciro?” he said, knocking. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” But his voice cracked.

Lalo mumbled something to himself that Ciro didn’t catch. “Come out of there and let’s talk.”

He considered saying no, but what was he going to do? Stay in here for the rest of lunch? He blew his nose with some toilet paper and opened the door.

Lalo crossed his arms. “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Why were you laughing at me?”

“I wasn’t laughing at—” The look on Ciro’s face must have stopped him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s go for a walk.”

They left the restaurant and walked across the road to look down at the beach. Neither of them said anything for a moment as they gazed at the sparkling blue water. Ciro breathed in the salty sea air. It cleared his head.

“You don’t have to buy me,” Ciro said, breaking the silence.

“So you don’t like the nice things I do for you.” Lalo’s voice was flat, unreadable.

Ciro turned to face him. “Of course I do! It’s just that…” He trailed off, frustrated as he tried to find the right words. “I don’t want us to be like Jesús and Ricardo.”

To Ciro’s relief, the corners of Lalo’s mouth twitched. “That’s what this is about?” He shook his head fondly. “Well, I don’t think there’s any danger of that happening. Although maybe I should stop spoiling you, just in case. Let’s check out of the hotel and go be bums on the beach. We can cook a can of beans over a trashcan fire for dinner.”

Ciro laughed. “Sounds romantic.” Then he grew more serious. “I meant what I said. Your money doesn’t matter. I’m not like your other b-boyfriends.” He stumbled over the word, his heart racing. Would Lalo reject it?

Lalo cupped his face. “I know, _mi pájarito_. There’s never been anyone like you.” He leaned in for a kiss.

Relief poured through him as he melted in Lalo’s arms. When they parted, Lalo took Ciro’s hand. “Come on, let’s go finish lunch.”

They walked together, hand in hand under the golden sun. A seagull circled overhead, letting out a few caws. Its flight was clumsy compared to the way Ciro’s heart soared.

***

After lunch, Lalo bought them both bathing suits—trunks, not briefs. While he had enjoyed the sight of Ciro’s ass in Jesús’s skimpy suit yesterday, the trunks were more him. Ciro had made a good point. Lalo didn’t want his little bird turning into a snake. The four of them returned to the hotel to change and then headed to Playa los Muertos, the gay beach.

They rented some umbrellas and chairs and staked out a spot. Jesús lotioned himself up and fell immediately asleep on a towel. Ciro headed to the ocean, plunging into the cold water without hesitation. He disappeared beneath the waves. Lalo watched and held his breath until he surfaced.

Lalo caught Ricardo staring at him. “What?”

Ricardo just shook his head and chuckled. “When Jesús told me you were bringing him home, I thought he was joking. Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he said before Lalo could respond. “I didn’t say I was against it.”

Lalo scowled. “Such a weight off my mind that you approve.”

“I think it’s good for you,” Ricardo pressed on. “There’s nothing wrong with settling down.”

“Settling down?” Lalo snorted. “Is that what you’ve done?”

“I suppose I have. It’s not as exciting as the chase, but there are so many subtler pleasures to be had with someone who you can depend on.” He paused. “I know your position is more precarious than the average man, but I don’t see why you can’t have that.”

Mercifully, Ricardo left it at that. Lalo’s gaze returned to Ciro as he bobbed up and down in the waves. He’d wanted Ciro from the moment he laid eyes on him, like Zeus had coveted Ganymede—another conquest, a pretty thing to serve him. But what if Lalo wasn’t Zeus, but Hades? And Ciro was his Persephone, stolen to bring some light into the dark corners of his realm. Not a toy. A partner.

Lalo Salamanca, the lonely King of Hell. It would be funny if it weren’t so pathetic.

He rubbed his face. He’d been mythologically minded as of late. His mother had insisted he go to university—Papá thought it was ridiculous, a narco at school. But Papá had put her other boys to work right away, and Lalo was her baby—she wanted the best for him. 

It had taken him a little while to choose a major—it wasn’t as if he had to worry about his career. He settled on Classical Studies. There was something relatable about the ancient world and its stories of heroes and gods. His life was steeped in the same decadence and violence. So different from the rest of humanity, who lived meager, boring little lives but were sometimes, against all odds, happy. 

Ciro dived under the waves again, surfaced, plunged back under. It made Lalo nervous. _There’s never been anyone like you._ He’d only meant to placate Ciro, but on reflection, he realized he’d accidentally told the truth. None of his other lovers had been like Ciro, not even…

He cut the thought off. He’d annihilated even the memory of him. A special power of the King of Hell.

Lalo left the comfort of his beach chair and headed for the ocean. Ciro caught sight of him and waved. “You coming in?” he shouted.

With a nod, Lalo waded toward him. The cold cut into his skin like a knife. “It’s freezing!”

Ciro laughed and rode a wave in, the tide pushing him into Lalo’s arms. He took ahold of his hand and tugged. “It’s not so bad when you get used to it. C’mon!”

He let Ciro pull him out farther. Once they were chest-deep in the frigid water, Lalo grabbed Ciro. “Come warm me up.”

Ciro threw his arms around him and they kissed. He tasted of salt—like sweat on skin, like tears on cheeks, like blood, like come, like life. His mind floated back to myth again. He couldn’t remember—had Persephone been happy? Had Hades?

Could he be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know the answer to that last question. 😔 You studied classics, Lalo - you should know you're in a tragedy! 
> 
> Coming up next, FINALLY, "Tell Me Again." Jealousy will rage! Fights will break out! Advice will be ignored! Unsafe sex will be had! And Ciro will tell Lalo as many times as he wants to hear.
> 
> PS - _Dormilón_ means sleepyhead. Isn't that so cute?


	12. Unless I Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lalo and Ciro's connection deepens. A surprise visitor exposes some hard truths.

_Should Love’s heart rejoice unless I burn?_

—Rumi, "The Ship Sunk in Love"

Lalo had been to Puerto Vallarta countless times, but its amusements had grown duller every year. But now with Ciro, everything became new again. 

He booked the tourist-y things he hadn’t done in years. They went whale-watching; the ocean shined silver in the sunlight as they bobbed in the boat and scanned the horizon for the beasts. Only one whale favored them with its presence, surfacing just off the port bow. It swam along them for a moment, one enormous eye fixing Lalo in its gaze. It unsettled him to be seen by this unfathomable force of nature—what did it make of him? The ship rocked in the creature’s wake. Ciro clung to Lalo, but he wasn’t afraid—he was laughing.

He took Ciro snorkeling. Ciro claimed he’d never been, but he moved so smoothly through the water Lalo could barely keep up with him. His little merman, cute even while bug-eyed in goggles, his lips distorted around the snorkel mouthpiece. He’d point at the brightly colored fish that floated past them, or at strange, undulating plants, brimming with contagious excitement. How had Lalo forgotten about the brilliant colors under the waves? Why had he stopped coming to see them?

They dined at Lalo’s favorite restaurants. He’d watch as Ciro ate, savoring the expressions on his face as he would any exquisite flavor. Sometimes after they ate, they’d hit the clubs. Ciro was shy at first—Lalo had to drag him onto the dance floor. But once he was out there, he threw himself into the music, joy pouring out of him and spilling all over Lalo.

Ricardo and Jesús tagged along sometimes, although by the second week, Lalo grew tired of their presence. Still, the four of them did have some laughs. They’d come back in the wee hours of the morning, tipsy and laughing, and Jesús and Ricardo would join them for another drink or two.

One night they were all particularly sluggish. Lalo and Ciro lay together on the couch, the TV turned on to some movie channel. Ricardo was snoring on one of the arm chairs while Jesús nursed a cocktail from the floor.

Lalo was pressed up against Ciro’s back, one arm slung over his hips. Ciro’s breathing was steady—not quite asleep yet, but getting there. Lalo nuzzled his neck and breathed him in—salt with cigarette smoke. He licked his skin for a taste.

Ciro stirred and turned around in Lalo’s arms to kiss him, sweet and sleepy. They kissed again, and again, and then—

“Oh my God, you two,” Jesús slurred. “Get a room.”

Ciro turned his head to look at him. “But Jesús, this is our room.”

Jesús blinked several times and looked around. “Well, shit.” He got up woozily and pulled at Ricardo’s arm. “Come on, _corázon_ —time for bed.”

Ricardo mumbled something and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. Jesús slung Ricardo’s arm over his shoulder. “Be safe, kids,” Jesús said, and then they staggered together out the door.

Lalo and Ciro laughed before kissing again, the sweetness of before giving way to heat. Soon they were naked in each other’s arms. Lalo wondered if Ciro would ever get less eager.

“I want you inside me,” Ciro gasped.

Lalo laughed and patted his ass. “We can make that happen. Wait here—don’t move.”

He left Ciro to fetch lube and a condom from the nightstand. He took a moment to admire Ciro stretched out on the sofa, his face flushed and his cock hard as he looked up at Lalo through lowered lids. It was positively pornographic.

Lalo slipped behind Ciro and slicked his fingers. He encouraged Ciro to raise his leg and eased a finger inside as he lay kisses on the tender nape of his neck. It took only minutes before Ciro was begging for it. Lalo removed his fingers and reached for the condom.

Ciro turned around and propped himself up on one elbow as he watched Lalo open the wrapper. “Do we need that?”

Lalo raised an eyebrow. “What, the condom?”

Ciro bit his lip. “I mean, you aren’t sleeping with anyone else, right?”

“Of course not,” Lalo said quickly.

“And I’ve never been with anyone but you. So why do we need it?”

Lalo hesitated. He was always careful with his partners and made sure he tested regularly. There really was no reason, except it meant something Lalo wasn’t ready to admit yet.

“Turn back around,” he said instead answering.

Ciro obeyed. Lalo rolled the condom on and slicked himself with more lube. “Raise your leg a little, _cariño_.”

“I mean, it’s not like I can get pregnant,” Ciro continued as he did as Lalo told him. “And it would be a lot easier if— _oh_.”

Ciro’s words cut off as Lalo slid inside him. He wrapped an arm around Ciro’s chest and drew him flush against him. “It still feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” Ciro whined.

Lalo chuckled. “Then don’t worry about it so much, yeah?”

Lalo kept it slow and gentle, luxuriating in the warmth of him as he ran a hand over Ciro’s toasty skin, starting at his chest and moving down until he reached his cock. Ciro’s head lolled back, his lips parted, his eyelids half-closed like he was lost in some dream. Maybe he was. Maybe they both were.

“Lalo,” Ciro sighed.

He captured his mouth in another kiss as he wrapped his fingers around Ciro, stroking him in time with his thrusts. He could have stayed like this for hours, but Ciro rocked back against him, urging him to go faster. Lalo obliged. Too soon, Ciro climaxed, his come slicking Lalo’s palm. Lalo’s pleasure swelled and overflowed, spilling out of him.

Lalo held himself inside until he started to go soft. Gripping the condom at the base, he pulled out and tied it off. A quick trip to the bathroom to dispose of it, wash his hands, and fetch a warm washcloth, and then he was back at Ciro's side. He ran the washcloth between Ciro’s legs and over his cock until he was clean.

Ciro gave him a sleepy smile as his eyelids drooped. “Love you,” he said.

He brushed a lock of hair from Ciro’s face. Would he ever notice that Lalo never said it back? “Let’s get you to bed, _dormilón_.”

Lalo tucked Ciro in and was about to leave when Ciro grabbed hold of his hand. “Aren’t you going to come to bed too?”

Something made him hesitate. He was tired, but a part of him felt like if he got into bed with Ciro now, he might never want to get up again. Instead, he kissed his forehead. “Soon. Get some rest, _mi amor_.”

Ciro yawned and shut his eyes. Within moments, he was fast asleep.

 _Mi amor_. The words lingered on Lalo’s lips as he pulled on a robe. An endearment, nothing more. He mixed himself a nightcap and stepped out onto the patio. The bracing night air sobered him. 

What the hell was he doing? Why had he brought Ciro here? It all seemed so clear to him before, but his clarity had dissolved like salt in hot water. Part of him wanted to return Ciro to his family. Let him go back to dreaming of horses and mucking out stalls. At least that was honest. Not like whatever this was.

And then Lalo could go back to the way he’d been. Detached. Cold. He’d become numb to it before he experienced Ciro’s warmth.

But it was too late for any of that. For better or worse, this was the road they were on. They must continue on. 

* * *

They headed to a beach the next day, which wasn’t accessible by land. They took water taxis across the bay—it was quieter there, although still populated with locals and tourists.

At this point, they had a beach routine. Ciro headed for the water right away. Jesús oiled himself up and lay down to snooze. Lalo and Ricardo lounged in their rented beach chairs, chatting for a bit and then falling into companionable silence as Lalo watched Ciro in the water. He wore a red suit today—Lalo could make out the flash of crimson when he dove into the waves, disappearing and reappearing again, like an ember that wouldn’t be put out.

At last, Ciro came in, plucking a kiss on Lalo’s cheek before grabbing a towel and drying himself off.

“How’s the water?” Lalo asked.

Ciro grinned down at him. The sun shone around him, casting his form in a dark silhouette haloed by sunlight. “Perfect. You should come in.”

“Maybe later.” His gaze swept over Ciro’s skin—it was a shade darker than it had been a week ago. “You using enough sunscreen?”

“Oh, I don’t burn,” he said.

Lalo riffled through one of their bags and pulled out a bottle. He pointed in front of him. “Sit.”

Ciro did as he was told. “Really, though,” he insisted. “I’ve never had a sunburn, or any burn. My mom says I’m fireproof.”

“Fireproof?” Lalo chuckled as he smoothed the coconut-scented lotion over his broad shoulders. “Everyone burns.”

“Not me.” But he let Lalo finish applying the lotion.

Ricardo stood. “I could use a drink,” he said. “Anyone care to join me?”

Jesús muttered something that was apparently intelligible to Ricardo—a refusal, evidently. Lalo also declined. Sitting out in the sun always made him feel lazy.

“I’d like a drink,” Ciro piped in as he stood.

Ricardo clapped. “Excellent! Then we will be companions.”

Lalo crooked a finger at Ciro, beckoning him to bend down, and kissed him. “Don’t fly away too far, _mi pájarito_.”

Ciro smiled. “I won’t.”

Ricardo took Ciro’s arm, and they headed towards the open-air bar further down the beach. Lalo watched them go, his gaze lingering on their linked arms. A friendly gesture, nothing more, but it irked him. Ricardo could have easily walked with Ciro while keeping his hands to himself.

Lalo blinked at the strength of the jealousy. He rubbed his face. This was getting out of control—he needed to relax.

He had just shut his eyes again when a surprising—and regrettably familiar—voice spoke up. “ _Little bird?_ Does everyone you fuck get a cute little animal nickname?”

Lalo's eyes flew open as he sat upright and twisted in his chair. Sure enough, a fair-skinned man with dark hair and the world’s sharpest cheekbones stood behind him with his hands on his hips, his ice-blue eyes narrowed in anger. Francisco.

Lalo recovered quickly. “Hello, _mi gatito_.” His kitten. Lalo had bestowed the nickname when Francisco had clawed his back so hard it drew blood the first time they slept together.

“Really? That’s all you have to say to me after you fucking vanished?”

“And what do you expect me to say?” Lalo asked.

“An apology would be nice.”

Lalo laughed. “An apology? Really? That’s what you expected?”

Francisco scowled. “I crashed that car you gave me, by the way.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Lalo turned back around.

In a few swift strides, Francisco was in front of him. “Don’t you turn your back on me!”

Lalo threw his hands up. “And what do we have left to say to each other?”

“Why did you leave without saying goodbye? I woke up one morning, and you were just gone.” His voice quavered. “Wouldn’t return my phone calls, just disappeared off the face of the earth. I kept scanning the newspapers, expecting to read about you dying in some shoot out or something.”

Lalo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Come on, _gatito_. It was over—you knew it, I knew it. What was the point in drawing it out?”

“You could have given me the common courtesy of actually breaking up with me.”

“Maybe I didn’t feel like having another knife thrown at my head.”

“For the last time, I did not throw it at your head. Just in your general direction.” He sniffed. “And you deserved it.”

Lalo rolled his eyes and settled back in his chair. “I can’t imagine why I’d want to miss out on another one of these charming exchanges.”

Francisco’s scowl deepened. “So where’d you find him—the local high school? I know you’re a creep, but I didn’t figure you for _that_ kind of creep.”

Not him, too! Lalo bit back a groan. “Ciro is twenty-one. He’s an adult.”

“Ciro, is it?” Francisco’s eyes shone with triumph.

Lalo pointed at him. “Don’t you go near him.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I can attract men my own age. What’s the matter—your bullshit not working on real grown-ups anymore?” 

Lalo snorted. “Worked on you. Actually, come to think of it—I didn’t have to say shit to get you into bed. I just threw some around some money and you couldn’t get my dick in your mouth fast enough. Tell me—you gone pro yet, or are you still an amateur whore?”

Francisco’s mouth fell open, and he flushed beet red. He snapped it shut and sucked in a deep breath through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was measured but full of venom. “You’re a cold-blooded monster with a hole in your chest where a heart ought to be. Your _pájarito_ is going to see through your human act eventually. God help him when he finds out who you really are.”

Lalo’s hands closed into tight fists. “He knows who I am.”

Francisco laughed nastily. “Oh, I sincerely doubt that. And I’ve got a cute little animal nickname for you— _cochino_!” Pig. With that, he flounced off.

Lalo felt like he’d swallowed ice, the cold seeping through him as he watched Francisco go. A burst of laughter on his right startled him. Jesús had sat up, and his shoulders shook in amusement.

“ _Jesucristo_ ,” he gasped as he wiped his eyes. “I’m stealing that whore line—that was golden.”

Lalo flexed his hands—they ached from being clenched. A row of little white moons arched across his each palm where his fingernails had dug into his skin. “Glad you were entertained,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, cheer up, Eduardo—you won that fight. I never liked that bitch.” Jesús got off his towel and slipped into Ricardo’s seat. “I hope you have a better exit strategy for Ciro, though.”

Lalo eyed him. “What do you mean?”

“For when you break up with him.” Jesús pulled out his cigarettes from the bag slung across the back of the chair and lit one. “Make sure he’s got some place to land, okay? It’s the least you can do.”

“And who says I’m going to break up with him?”

Jesús stared. “Oh no—don’t tell me you’ve swept yourself up in this fantasy! It’s bad enough that Ciro thinks he’s in the romance of the century without you believing it, too.”

“And why is that hard to believe?” Lalo snapped. “You think I’m a monster, too?”

Jesús clucked his tongue. “You’re not a monster. You’re a very specific breed of man, and you are way too young for this.”

Lalo let out a bark of bitter laughter. “Oh, I’m too young for him now? I’m confused—I thought I was a dirty old man.”

Jesús waved his cigarette. “You’re what, in your early forties? You’ve still got a lot of wild oats to sow. Fifteen years from now, when you show up with another pretty young thing on your arm and declare yourself ready to settle down, I’ll believe you then.”

Lalo fought the urge to strangle him. “And do you tell Ciro this? That I’m going to leave him?”

Jesús snorted. “As if he would believe me. If you haven’t noticed, he’s madly in love with you.” He pointed at Lalo, the smoke of his cigarette swirling. “But you should know better. It’s not just you. This is Ciro’s first romance. They rarely last.”

They drifted into silence. Lalo watched as the tide came in, the waves coming up just a little higher each time. “And what if I don’t grow tired of him?” He wasn’t sure if he was asking Jesús or himself.

Jesús shrugged. “Then maybe he gets tired of you. First love burns hot, but it also burns fast. And if you keep him locked up in the middle of nowhere? Love needs oxygen, corazón. Smother it and it won’t burn at all.”

A sick feeling washed over him. He lurched to his feet, as if he were a puppet and his strings had just been yanked. He had to find Ciro. Jesús said something to him as he headed toward the bar, but Lalo couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

He spotted Ricardo first, who sat at a table in front of the bar, talking and laughing with two vaguely familiar men. “Lalo!” Ricardo said when he caught sight of him. “You remember Pedro and Juan, don’t you? It was a few summers ago, when we—”

Lalo cut him off. “Where’s Ciro?”

Ricardo looked around. “He’s here somewhere, I’m sure. He mentioned wanting a cigarette. Anyway, Pedro and I were just talking about that time when we—”

Lalo left before he could finish. He scanned the bar—no Ciro. Where would he have gone for a cigarette?

He finally spotted him at a table around the corner of the bar—the smoking section, presumably. A man sat with him—they both had drinks and cigarettes and were in the midst of a conversation. The man was older than Ciro, but younger than Lalo—situated somewhere in that vast twenty-year gap between them. Handsome, with a moustache and dark hair like Lalo’s, but unstreaked by white. This stranger took a pull off his cigarette and then let the smoke out, his lips rounded like a kiss.

Lalo’s fingers twitched, eager for a weapon. He forced himself to take a breath in and let it out again before moving toward them.

Ciro’s face lit up when he saw Lalo. “There he is!” he said to his companion before turning to Lalo. “Lalo, I want you to meet my new friend—”

Lalo plucked Ciro’s half-finished cigarette from him and put it out. “We’re leaving.”

Ciro’s expression faltered. “Is something wrong?”

Lalo forced a smile. “No. But it’s time to go.”

Ciro’s eyes got bigger. “Okay.” He took one last swig of drink and smiled at the stranger. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too.” The stranger gave Lalo a disapproving look. Did Lalo detect the beginning of a sneer? He bared his teeth, and the stranger averted his gaze.

Lalo took Ciro’s arm as he led him away from the bar, his strides long and brisk. Ciro stumbled keeping up.

“Is everything okay?” Ciro asked again.

“Yes, fine.” Where were they going? People teemed all around them, and Lalo wanted privacy.

“I’m sorry,” Ciro said after another moment.

Lalo stopped. “You do something you need to be sorry for?” His grip on his arm tightened.

Ciro winced. “I don’t know. You just seem mad.” He bit his lip. “Did I do something wrong?”

Lalo sighed and released him. He rubbed his brow before responding. “No. But you should be careful who you talk to.”

“Oh.” Ciro’s voice was small. “He seemed nice.”

“You think everyone seems nice.” Lalo’s gaze landed on some changing stalls. It would do. He took Ciro’s hand, gentler now. “Come on.”

The stalls were empty when they enter. Lalo led them to the largest one in the back. He drew the curtain and then took Ciro into his arms, kissing him hard. Ciro allowed it, but the tension in him made the embrace awkward.

Lalo softened his approach. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured. It was the truth.

Some of Ciro’s tension released. He even laughed a little. “I was only gone for a few minutes!”

Lalo smiled, too. “Too long.” He deepened their kiss and reached for his bathing suit.

“ _La-lo_ ,” Ciro sing-songed, putting a hand on Lalo’s chest as if to push him back. “What if someone comes in?”

Lalo knocked his hand away. “They’ll walk right back out if they know what’s good for them.”

“But what if they call the police?”

“The police?” Lalo laughed. “Out here?”

“Or security, I guess.”

“You really think some rent-a-cop is going to have the balls to say shit to me?” Lalo crowded Ciro until his back was flush with the wall. He put his hands on either side of him, pinning him in place. “You think anyone can keep me from what I want?”

Ciro’s eyes went wide—had Lalo frightened him? But then Ciro surged forward and kissed him hungrily, his reluctance gone. Lalo slipped his hand under Ciro’s waistband and stroked him until his dick hardened. He dropped to his knees and pulled Ciro’s suit down in one fluid motion, then took his cock into his mouth.

Ciro gasped. “Lalo!” Not the reluctant song of before—his voice trilled with desire.

Lalo rewarded him by taking his cock all the way down his throat. Ciro moaned and threaded his fingers through Lalo’s hair.

He indulged in a few more sucks before pulling away—Lalo wanted more. He tugged Ciro’s suit the rest of the way off and threw it aside before standing. Once he was on his feet, he spun Ciro around to face the wall and kicked his legs apart. Ciro’s hands flung out to brace against the wall to avoid losing his balance. 

“Don’t move,” Lalo breathed in his ear. A shudder rippled along Ciro’s shoulders; he swallowed and nodded.

A swift scan of the stall revealed an abandoned bottle of tanning oil beside a towel. Lalo retrieved the oil and returned to Ciro’s side. The oil makes slick sounds as he coated his fingers. He put the bottle down and then he pressed one finger inside Ciro’s body. He held it still while he laid a kiss on each shoulder, then the nape of his neck, then behind his ear. The coconut lotion on his skin smelled sweet but tasted bitter, and the scent of cigarette smoke lingered in his hair.

He pulled the finger out and pushed it back in again, stroking him on the inside. “More?” he asked.

In response, Ciro arched his back and moaned. Lalo started to add another finger, but Ciro reached behind himself and groped Lalo’s crotch. “No more fingers—want you now.”

As if Lalo could deny that. He pushed down his own suit far enough to get his cock out and coated himself with the oil. No condom—he didn’t have one, and he couldn’t wait. He lined his cock up with Ciro’s hole and pushed inside in one long, slow slide, all the way to the root. Heat engulfed him, hot as a furnace, almost too intense on his bare skin. They’d barely started and Lalo was already panting, sweat beading on his brow. 

He rested his head on Ciro’s shoulder and tried to catch his breath. Ciro pushed his hips back impatiently, urging him to move. Lalo pulled out slowly and then thrust back in.

He couldn’t keep up the slow pace for long, not with the way Ciro writhed and moaned. Ciro stroked himself as Lalo picked up the pace. When his cries became louder, Lalo clamped a hand over his mouth and shushed him. “Not so loud, _cariño_.”

Ciro shook his head free. “I thought you didn’t care if someone found us,” he panted.

Lalo let out a breathless laugh. “Then sing them a song they’ll remember, _pájarito_.” He thrust into him so hard Ciro rocked up to the balls of his feet. Ciro let out a gorgeous moan that sent a white-hot bolt of desire through him. Faster, harder. Lalo’s pace grew erratic as his orgasm built inside him, gathering like a storm.

Ciro’s hand worked faster as his moans grew higher in pitch. Lalo bit Ciro’s neck, hard enough to mark, and that sent Ciro over the edge, screaming Lalo’s name as he came. The heat around Lalo’s cock pulsed in an irresistible rhythm, pulling him in like a boiling hot tide. His orgasm crested—

—and at the last second, he pulled out and shot on Ciro’s thigh, his body shaking with the force of it, battering him like winds in a hurricane. He bent over and braced his hands on his knees as his breath came in heaves, his lungs burning. His heart slammed against his ribcage like it was trying to escape.

He startled when Ciro touched his elbow. He was dressed again and had the abandoned towel in his hand. “Are you okay?” Ciro’s eyes were round with worry.

Lalo nodded and gestured to the towel. Ciro handed it to him. By the time Lalo had wiped himself down and pulled his trunks up again, his breathing had evened. _Jesucristo_. Was he that out of shape?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ciro asked again.

“Yeah, yeah—just had to catch my breath.” 

Ciro wrapped his arms around Lalo in a fierce hug. When they parted, Lalo’s gaze fell on his neck. A fresh bruise bloomed where Lalo had bitten him, the teeth marks white in the growing purple. “And what about you? I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I?”

Ciro shook his head, then shifted in place and winced. “Maybe a little. But I don’t mind.” He touched the bruise. “I want people to see.”

Heat blazed in Lalo again. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and released it in a chuckle. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” 

Ciro hugged him again. “Don’t even joke about it,” he mumbled against his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lalo stroked his hair. “You’d manage.”

Ciro pulled back and met his gaze. “No, I wouldn’t,” he said, his eyes dark and intense. “I love you, Lalo. I’d die without you.”

A curious feeling swirled inside Lalo—a surge of victory at the confirmation that Ciro was completely his, undercut by the nausea of unease. Ciro’s heart was delicate and easily broken, like a bird’s wing. But fragile things weren’t always harmless. 

Bombs could be fragile, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh. That last line was ominous. 😬 Watch out, Lalo - you're playing with fire. (And Ciro should have recognized that red flag, but what else is new.) Check out the full poem ["The Ship Sunk in Love" by Rumi](http://rumi-poem.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-ship-sunk-in-love.html) \- it's highly relevant (don't worry, no one dies still. But it gets wild.) And will anyone ever listen to Jesus??? (Spoiler - no.)
> 
> How'd you like Francisco? He'll be back to make some trouble. And next chapter - for real, at last - will be "Tell Me Again." After that, we enter Act 3 - Lalo's home. Then shit really hits the fan.
> 
> Sorry for the delay - my last couple weeks got eaten by life. And it might be another couple weeks until the next chapter. I finally untangled the issues I was having with "Reign in Hell," so I'll be splitting my time between the fics.
> 
> PS - I'm posting on my birthday! 🥳️ Not how I imagined I'd be spending it, but oh well. Happy holidays, everyone!


	13. The Specter of Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus and Francisco give Ciro advice. Lalo decides what he wants.

Ciro hurt the next day, too sore to sit down without discomfort. The bitemark on his neck throbbed, and there were bruises on his arm and hips where Lalo had gripped him.

No matter how many times Ciro told him he didn’t mind, Lalo refused to believe him. He declared they would spend the day in. He sent for pain killers and ice packs. He massaged Ciro’s shoulders, ran him a bath in their enormous marble tub. He called himself a beast, a brute, and asked if Ciro could ever forgive him.

Ciro couldn’t stop smiling. He treasured the aches. There had been an imbalance before, with Ciro always feeling so desperate for Lalo and Lalo holding back, always so careful, so in control. It had been different in the changing stall. He’d been wild, his desire violent, as desperate for Ciro as Ciro always was for him. He’d fucked him bare, with nothing in between them. It was like they were flesh, burning together in the heat of love.

Lalo took him in his arms that night the way he used to when they first met, kissing and stroking him without a care for his own pleasure. It felt like a lifetime ago. Terror gripped Ciro when he realized how easily they might have missed each other—if Lalo had gone to a different ranch, or if he hadn’t walked by the stable at the exact right moment to see him.

Ciro’s life had been nothing but misfortune—his father and brother shot dead in front of him, his other brother missing, his family plunged into poverty. Lalo had changed everything. Now his mother didn’t have to worry about money anymore, and his sister got to chase her dreams. And Lalo would take care of him and he wouldn’t have to be scared or alone ever again.

Was there anyone in the history of the world as lucky as him?

***

By the next morning, Ciro felt better. They had breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant at a table on the balcony, the fresh sea breeze wafting over them as the sun began to warm the day. They had a perfect view of the coastline. The sky and the ocean were the same blue, as if the horizon were a mirror reflecting one upon the other. But which was the object, and which was the reflection?

Ciro and Lalo had just placed their order when Jesús and Ricardo joined them. Ciro didn’t miss Jesús’s frown as he eyed the bruise on Ciro’s neck, then shot a look at Lalo. He hadn’t approved of Lalo and Ciro’s changing stall encounter when Ciro had told him about it. It irritated Ciro—as if Jesús had never had public sex.

The four of them chatted idly over breakfast. “So you two have any plans for today?” Lalo asked as they had finished their meal.

Ricardo opened his mouth to respond, but Jesús beat him to it. “I don’t know what Ricardo is doing, but Ciro and I are going shopping.”

Ciro blinked. “We are?”

“We are,” Jesús said firmly.

Ciro glanced at Lalo. “Is that okay?”

Lalo hesitated. “Of course,” he said at last. He pulled out some bills from his wallet and handed them to Ciro.

It still felt strange to take money from Lalo—it was too much like being paid. “Thanks,” he managed.

Lalo crooked his finger, and Ciro’s awkwardness melted as he leaned in for a kiss. “Don’t fly too far, _pájarito_.”

Jesús and Ciro left Lalo and Ricardo and went to the parking lot. Jesús’s yellow Ferrari gleamed in the mid-morning light. Lalo's car was impressive, but it was older and had retro charm. This car screamed money. “Cute, right?” Jesús asked.

Ciro snorted. “ _Cute_ is not the word I’d use.”

“Then what would you call it?”

Ciro put his hand on the hood; it was warm to the touch. “Intimidating,” he finally said.

Jesús laughed. “Not once you get to know her!”

“She’s a girl?”

“Of course she is! Her name’s Blondie, and she’s a bombshell just like me.” He patted his bleached hair, and Ciro laughed. The car chirped as Jesús unlocked it. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ciro opened the window as they got on the road, enjoying the sharp sting of the wind on his face. It surprised him when Jesús turned and headed away from town. “Where are we shopping for?” Ciro asked.

“We aren’t going shopping,” Jesús said. “We’re starting driving lessons.”

“Oh.” Ciro swallowed. “I don’t think Lalo would—”

“I know you’re new to this whole sugar baby thing,” Jesús interrupted. “But Lalo isn’t actually your dad. You don’t need his permission to learn how to drive.”

Ciro slouched in his seat and scowled. “You aren’t my dad, either. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re right, I’m not. I’m your friend. And I’m teaching you how to drive if it’s the last goddamn thing I ever do.” He pulled into a nearly empty parking lot and shut off the ignition. “Come on, get in the driver’s seat.”

Ciro considered refusing, but Jesús was as stubborn as Rosa. It would be easiest just to go along with it. They switched places. It felt odd to be in the driver’s seat. Ciro took a shuddering breath. He’d do a few laps around the parking lot to make Jesús happy, and then they could get back to the hotel, to Lalo.

Jesús gave him a quick overview of the gears and told him to put the car into drive. Ciro tapped on the accelerator—not hard enough at first, and then too hard, making them lurch forward. He couldn’t seem to keep the wheel straight. It shouldn’t have been difficult—maybe if he just had to worry about the steering or accelerating, he would have been fine, but worrying about them both was like trying to pat his head and rub his stomach at the same time.

“Remember to check your mirrors,” Jesús said. “You need to know what’s going on around you.”

“How can I look in the mirrors and ahead of me at the same time?”

“You’ll get the hang of it. Go on, take a peek.” Ciro did as he was told, but then Jesús cried out. “Brake! Brake!”

Ciro slammed on the brake, barely avoiding running into a divider. “Sorry,” he said after he put the car into park.

“You’re fine. You just need a little practice.” Jesús rubbed his temple. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-one and have never been behind the wheel before.”

“My dad gave me a couple lessons, before—” He stopped.

“Before what?” Jesús asked.

“Just, before. He’s dead now.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Jesús said gently.

Ciro folded his arms over his chest. “Why are you so determined to teach me how to drive?”

Jesús raised an eyebrow. “Why are you so determined to not learn?”

A good question. “I just—I don’t think I have to. Lalo will take care of me.”

“Lalo’s rarely home, as far as I can tell, and he’s not going to let you tag along on cartel business. What are you going to do when he’s gone?”

Ciro shifted. “Well, doesn’t he have like, servants and stuff? He’ll tell them to take me where I want to go.”

Jesús squeezed his eyes shut and muttered something to himself that Ciro didn’t catch. “Cirito, it’s a bad idea to depend on him for everything.”

“Because you think he’s using me, don’t you?” Ciro hugged his arms tighter to his chest. “You’re just like my sister. Why is it so hard to believe that someone might love me?”

Jesús pursed his lips. “Ciro. Have I ever said that?”

“No,” Ciro was forced to admit.

“Sometimes things don’t work out, even if people love each other. Look what happened to Romeo and Juliet! Plus you’ve also got to consider his line of work.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if he gets killed? What happens to you then? The Salamancas won’t take care of you. They might _take care_ of you.” He mimed a gun to his head.

“Oh,” Ciro said in a small voice.

Jesús held out his hand. “Give me your wallet.” When Ciro obeyed, Jesús counted the money Lalo had given him. He got out his own wallet and added some more bills. When he was finished with that, he took some paper from the glove compartment, tore off a strip, and scribbled something down on it. He tucked the slip of paper between the bills. “I’m giving you my number. You put this somewhere safe—somewhere Lalo doesn’t know about. He might take it the wrong way. And you get more, and you make yourself a little nest egg. Just in case. Okay?” He held out the wallet.

Ciro hesitated a moment before accepting it. “Okay.” He didn’t like it, but maybe Jesús was right.

“One more lesson,” he said, his tone lighter. “I want you to repeat after me—” Jesús’s voice turned sultry as he undulated his hips. “ _Ay,_ Lalo, you feel so good! Yes, yes, _yes, papi_ —buy me a car!”

Ciro burst out laughing. “I’m not saying that!”

“You can put your own spin on it.” Jesús pointed at him. “And get the title in your name. Got it?”

Ciro held up his hands. “Okay, okay.”

“Now let’s go get some lunch. And hell, we might as well shop too. We deserve it.”

They switched places, and Jesús pulled out of the parking lot and headed out.

“Hey, Jesús?” Ciro said after a while.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for looking out for me, but you don’t have to worry so much. He really does love me.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Jesús said under his breath.

Ciro almost asked him what he meant, but decided he didn’t want to know.

***

They had lunch at a little cafe in the Zona Romántica. Afterward, Jesús decided Ciro needed jewelry. He took him to a store where Ricardo had a line of credit so Ciro wouldn't have to spend his cash. Ciro had never owned a real piece of jewelry—just cheap saint medals. After some consideration, he picked out a gold chain. Jesús declared it _too butch, but pawnable._ Ciro wore it out of the store. It felt heavy around his neck.

They hit the boutiques next—Jesús was on a quest for the perfect pair of sandals. Ciro stepped out of the store for a cigarette while Jesús agonized over shoes. As he smoked, he watched the crowds bustling along the street. Music and laughter drifted through the air. The colors of the shops and the tropical trees and flowers were so bright it almost hurt to look at them. Everyone seemed happy. And why wouldn’t they be? It was a beautiful day, like it always was here, and most of the folks were on vacation.

He and Lalo were also on vacation, he realized. They’d already overstayed Lalo’s original plan—they’d been here over three weeks—but they couldn’t sty in Puerta Vallarta forever. Lalo would take him home—and then what? Ciro knew Lalo would have to leave on business…but surely it would only be for a month, maybe a month and a half at a time. And then he’d come home to pick Ciro up and take him on vacation again. He’d already mentioned a beach down south in Ixtapa.

And Ciro wouldn’t be completely alone. Lalo had told him about Yolanda, his housekeeper, who had been with him since he was a little boy. He imagined her like his abuelita. She’d cook him meals and spoil him, probably. Plus, he’d have the horses. He and Balada would be happy together in their new home.

He finished his cigarette and was just about to go inside when a voice startled him. “Hey, Ciro!”

Ciro turned to the speaker, who was standing across the street. It was a man he’d never seen before. He had black hair, sharp cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes. The man jogged across the street and approached him. Ciro frowned. How did this stranger know his name?

“Do I know you?” Ciro asked.

“No, but we have something in common. Or well, someone.” There was something sharp about his smile that Ciro didn’t like. “I’m Francisco.” He held out his hand.

The blood drained from Ciro’s face. Lalo’s ex? How did he know Ciro’s name? Had Lalo been talking to him, and hadn’t told Ciro? Ciro did not accept the handshake.

Francisco dropped his hand and shrugged. “My reputation proceeds me, apparently. Sorry. I know I’m being forward, but when I saw you, I just had to talk to you.”

“How do you know my name?” he demanded.

“Lalo didn’t tell you we ran into each other the other day?” When Ciro shook his head, Francisco continued, “At the beach. I spotted him and—well, I spied. A little. I overheard your name.”

Ciro crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

Francisco didn’t answer right away. “Well…I was hoping you would apologize to Lalo for me. I’m afraid I lost my temper. He just walked out on me one day—I had no idea if he was dead or alive until I spotted him on the beach.”

Lalo had disappeared on him? Ciro swallowed. “I’ll tell him.”

“So you two going to be in town long?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. He’s taking me to live with him soon.”

That sharp smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. “You’re moving in? Which house? I loved his place in Guadalajara—I stayed there for a while. Very chic.”

Ciro knew Lalo owned several houses, but he hadn’t really thought about him living in them. “His actual home. In Chihuahua.”

“That place in the middle of nowhere? Huh. Guess he wants to keep you all to himself.” He tilted his head. “So where was he living when he met you? Mexico City? Oaxaca?”

Ciro wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “He was staying at a place his family owned, while he was in town for business.”

Francisco slapped his forehead lightly. “Oh, right! Silly me. His family has houses all over the country. In the States, too—there’s one in New Mexico, I think? I used to call him my gypsy. Always traveling, never in the same place for long. I worried sometimes…” He trailed off. “Well, never mind what I worried. It sounds like you two are very happy together.”

Ciro stuck his chin out. “We are. He loves me.”

Francisco raised his eyebrows. “Lalo Salamanca actually said the words ‘I love you’? Wow. You two must really have something special.”

“We do.” Except now that Ciro thought about it…Lalo hadn’t ever said it, had he? Ciro’s mind raced. Surely that wasn’t true. He must have. Why couldn’t he remember?

"I'm glad." Francisco sighed. “Things started out so well with us, but clearly I didn’t do a good job of keeping him happy. I mean, I tried. I bent over backwards to fulfill his every desire. You do the same—I can tell just from the way you look at him. But I think it was a mistake.”

Ciro frowned. “What do you mean?”

“A man like Lalo needs excitement. If I had to do it over again, I think I would have pushed back more. Maybe try to make him a little jealous—you know, just to keep things spicy. It’s my fault for making things too easy for him. No wonder he got bored.” Francisco tapped his lips. “You know, on second thought—maybe you shouldn’t tell Lalo you saw me. It might stir up bad feelings.”

“Yeah, sure.” He wasn’t eager to bring up this conversation to Lalo anyway.

Francisco looked down at his watch. “Goodness, two o’clock already. I’ve taken up too much of your time. It was nice chatting with you, Ciro—best of luck!” He waved and set out down the street.

Ciro’s head spun. He lit another cigarette to calm his nerves. Should he tell Jesús about the encounter? He decided not to. He wished he could forget it altogether. But it was like something inside him had been unlocked, and his mind flooded with worry. He and Lalo hadn’t been together very long. What if Lalo got bored? What if he was out on business and picked someone up, just like he had Ciro? He could keep a guy in every town and Ciro would never know.

Jesús emerged from the shop, a bag in tow. “ _Jesucristo_ , Ciro,” he said. “Are you alright? You look like you’re going to throw up.”

Ciro managed a shaky smile. “I’m fine. Just a headache.”

“It’s awfully bright out today, isn’t it?” He laced their arms together. “Let’s get back to the hotel. I’m sure Lalo’s missing you.”

Ciro hoped that was true.

***

Lalo sipped on his mojito while Ricardo snoozed beside him. They’d spent a quiet day together, having lunch at the hotel and then relaxing by the pool. The nice thing about Ricardo was that while he was an excellent conversationalist, he was also good at shutting up when Lalo was in a brooding mood.

And he _was_ brooding. Lalo didn’t like losing control, and he’d come very close to it the other day. The desperation he felt at the thought of losing Ciro had overwhelmed him. Lalo had structured his life around not having anything to lose. And yet despite his best efforts, here he was. It was pathetic. Ridiculous. It made him weak.

Lalo rubbed his face. He’d let Jesús’s little barb get the better of him, that’s all. Jesús, who was positively gleeful about the idea of their relationship ending. He didn’t know shit. Ciro wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t want to return to his family—not when he’d been so eager to leave. And where else in the world could he go, with no money and no friends?

All the same, Lalo would feel better when he had his little bird safe at home. He grew tired of Puerta Vallarta, anyway. They’d set out in a few days.

Jesús and Ciro arrived back at a little after two. Ciro bounded over to him and jumped in his lap. Lalo let out a pained _oof_ —Ciro was not light.

“Did you miss me?” Ciro asked after he’d kissed him.

“Of course.” Lalo touched his necklace—a gold chain. Expensive by the look of it—he must have spent all of the money Lalo had given him. “I see you had a successful trip.”

“Do you like it?”

Lalo gathered the chain and used it to pull Ciro in for another kiss. “I do.”

When they parted, Lalo noticed Jesús staring at them. Jesús snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Bluebird.”

Lalo and Ciro both furrowed their brows. “What?” Ciro asked.

“Your car’s name, silly. I think you’d look great in a sporty blue Corvette.”

“You two talking about cars again?” Lalo asked Ciro with the echo of a smile.

Jesús answered before Ciro could respond. “I let him take Blondie for a spin. He needs a little more practice, but we’ll have him driving in no time.”

Lalo’s smile froze in place. “You went driving?”

“Just around the parking lot.” Ciro bit his lip. “That’s okay, right?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Jesús said, a sharp edge in his voice. “He doesn’t own you.”

Lalo nudged Ciro off his lap and stood. He fixed Jesús with the same smile he used on disobedient subordinates. Jesús put his hands on his hips and glared back. Lalo took a step towards him. At last, Jesús faltered and looked away.

“Come on, _pájarito_.” Lalo took Ciro’s hand. “Let’s get out of the sun.”

“I didn’t want to,” Ciro said when they got to their room. “He practically made me. Are you mad at me?” A whine had crept into his voice.

The last thing he wanted was a tearful Ciro, so Lalo bit back his annoyance. “And why would I be angry?” he said a little too brightly. “You can drive a car if you want.”

“But I don’t want to,” Ciro insisted. “Where would I want to go without you?”

Lalo’s irritation evaporated. He took Ciro in his arms and kissed his head. “Such pretty songs you sing.”

Ciro tilted his head for a kiss, which led to another, and another. They undressed each other and fell to the bed. Lalo’s hands ghosted across a bruise on Ciro’s hip before he moved on to caress his ass. “Still sore, _cariño_?”

“No,” he said quickly, and then, “Well, maybe a little.”

Lalo hummed and kissed his neck. “Another time, then.” He stroked Ciro’s cock. “There’s plenty else I’d like to do to you.”

“But I want it,” Ciro said. The whine had returned, although this time it aroused Lalo rather than annoyed him. “Please. Just—be gentle with me?”

As if Lalo could refuse that. He reached for the nightstand and pulled out the lube and a condom.

Ciro frowned at the condom. “Why do we need that? You didn’t use one last time.”

Not this again. Lalo set the things aside. “Last time we were improvising,” he said, laying kisses down his neck to distract him. “No need for that now.”

Ciro shoved him away with a force that surprised Lalo. “It’s because you’re still going to fuck other guys, isn’t it?”

The sudden shift in mood left Lalo flummoxed. “What are you talking about?”

“When you travel, you’re going to pick guys up and have your fun while I’m all alone.” His eyes teared. “And one day you’ll get tired of me and throw me out.” The tears overflowed.

“No, no, Cirito!” He put his arms around him. “I would never.”

“You will,” he sobbed into his chest. “You will. And I’d die, Lalo. I would just _die_ without you!”

Lalo hushed and rocked him. When he’d quieted, Lalo smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead. “Hey now—what brought this on?” The answer came to him at once. Lalo’s jaw clenched at the thought of Jesús whispering poison in his ear. “Did Jesús tell you that?”

“No.”

A lie, clearly, but Lalo didn’t press him. He grabbed a box of tissues from the nightstand and handed them to Ciro, who sat up and blew his nose. Lalo took Ciro’s hand and kissed it as he tried to think of what to reassure him. “The world is full of miserable people who want to destroy anyone who is happier than them. And we are happy, aren’t we, _cariño_?”

“Uh-huh.” Ciro wiped his eyes.

“Then let them be jealous. We won’t let them get between us, will we?”

Ciro shook his head, then peered at Lalo through watery eyes. “And you won’t sleep with other guys?”

“No, I swear it.” Lalo’s heart thudded. Did he really mean that?

At last, Ciro smiled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“Don’t worry about it. Come here.” He kissed him and fondled his now-soft cock, which quickly hardened again. “Let me take care of you…” Lalo moved down and took Ciro into his mouth.

Above him, Ciro moaned. “ _Lalo_.”

It didn’t take long for Ciro to come. Afterward, he was his cheerful self again. “I’m going to take a swim in our pool. Want to join me?”

Lalo stretched. “Maybe later. What sounds good to me right now is a beer.”

Ciro picked his clothes off the floor on his way to the closet to change. He emerged in his red bathing suit, bright as a cherry. “Sure you don’t want to come?”

Lalo’s cock throbbed. He hadn’t gotten off yet, which he didn’t mind—delaying pleasure made it all the sweeter later. But the temptation to fuck Ciro in the pool right now was almost too much to resist. Or to have Ciro blow him underwater… He sucked a breath in through his teeth and let it out again slowly. No. He’d wait till tonight. The anticipation buzzed through him pleasantly. “I’m sure, but I’ll come watch you, though.”

Ciro stepped through the French doors to their private pool while Lalo got dressed again and grabbed a beer. He followed Ciro outside. Over the last few days, the full heat of summer had finally arrived. It was especially hot at this time of day, beating down on them with the intensity of a smokeless fire. Lalo ran the cold beer bottle over his brow as he sat and watched Ciro do laps. He didn’t have a pool at home. Maybe he should have one built.

It had been about twenty minutes when Lalo heard a ring from inside the room—his cell phone. He cursed to himself, although he should be grateful he’d gone this long without work dragging him back in. When he saw the number on the display, he froze—Hector. His uncle hadn’t called after the business with the Sinaloans. That didn’t necessarily mean anything—Hector was a busy man. Maybe he was just getting around to congratulating him.

He shook himself out of it and answered. “Tío! Good to hear from you!”

A grunt. “Don Eladio tells me you pulled off a miracle. He wants to saint you.”

Lalo laughed. “Does he, now? It was nothing. A little carrot, a little stick, and they were eating out of my hand.”

“Yes, you’re very clever.” A pause. “I talked to Yolanda. She says you haven’t been home yet.”

Lalo rubbed his neck. “I’m on vacation. I deserve it after all that bullshit.”

“Let me guess. You’re in Puerta Vallarta with your boy whores.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I’m in Puerta Vallarta.”

“I heard about that stunt you pulled in the bar, to provoke Alverez’s men.”

“And it worked! After that insult, Alverez had no choice but to cede the territory or else we—”

Hector cut him off. “I don’t care where you put your dick, Lalo. That’s your business. But that kind of faggot shit reflects badly on us.”

Lalo felt like he’d swallowed lead. “It was just a stunt.”

A skeptical grunt, then: “That boy you had with you. Ciro. Where is he now?”

Lalo’s fist clenched. It didn’t surprise him that Hector had heard about what happened. Alverez’s men would have spread the story, even after Alverez told them to knock it off. But the detail of Ciro’s name—only one of his men could have known that. Who talked? Angel? He’d have to find out. “Don’t worry about it, Tío,” he said.

“Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t worry about!” he snapped. “Did you take him with you?”

Lalo ran a hand through his hair. “I’m on vacation, like I said. Just having fun.”

“Well, vacation is over. Finish your ‘fun’ with the boy and send him home. He won’t talk, will he? Tell everyone about the narco he fucked?”

“No,” Lalo said. “He wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“Good.” His voice softened. “You can’t trust outsiders, mijo. Don’t let your guard down like you did with—”

“I know,” Lalo interrupted. “I wouldn’t let something like that happen again. He means nothing to me. Just some fun. I deserve that, don’t I?”

A beat of silence. “Enjoy the rest of your vacation,” Hector said. “And then your family needs you back at work.” He hung up.

Lalo stared at the phone for a long moment and then threw it across the room where it crashed into the wall with a crack. He stormed out to the pool. Ciro was floating on his back, his eyes shut. His skin glowed golden in the sunlight. He was so beautiful Lalo thought his heart might break.

Lalo stripped naked, leaving his clothes littering the pool deck, and then stepped into the cool, inviting water. Ciro glided over to him and into his arms. “Were you on the phone just now?” he asked.

“Yes. Just business. Nothing you need to worry about.” He kissed him and pressed his hardening cock against Ciro’s hip. “You want to take care of me now?”

Ciro dipped his head and looked up at Lalo through lowered lids with that mixture of innocence and wantonness that drove Lalo wild. If Lalo were straight and Ciro was a girl, they could have been married. Guys like Lalo took young wives all the time. They would be celebrated—cartel weddings lasted for days, with endless champagne and dancing and laughter, embraces and well-wishes. A woman was not an outsider—she was a precious gem, the vector of the next generation. A wife was never a dirty secret, a hidden shame.

That’s why his lovers had to be disposable. Because what else could they be?

“What do you want?” Ciro breathed.

_A home. A real life. You._

He could admit it now. And he _would_ have him. The rest of the world be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know - I'm still not at Tell Me Again. Next chapter I SWEAR. Ciro takes some advice, and it's not Jesus's. Lalo and Ciro have their first blow out fight, but the fall out might surprise you. And after that, we'll be headed to Elysium and Act Three! 
> 
> Sorry for the delay, but I'm glad to be back! Hopefully I can get back to a regular posting schedule. And check out the covers I made for each of the chapters - Act One [here](https://seraphtrevs.tumblr.com/post/642942412756516864/lucky-to-be-here-act-one), and Act Two [here.](https://seraphtrevs.tumblr.com/post/642941515173347328/here-are-the-covers-for-act-2-of-lucky-to-be-here) I've also added them to the chapter. I had so much fun messing around with these - I can't believe I found an actual picture of Tony Dalton swimming. The guy who plays Ciro is harder, but I managed to work him into a cover too.


	14. Tell Me Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! This chapter is extra long and extra intense, so gird your loins.

“You’re leaving _now_?” Jesús asked.

Ciro rubbed his neck. “Yeah, I guess so. Lalo's got business.”

They were standing in the doorway of Ciro and Lalo’s suite. The morning sun filtered through the French doors, casting shadows of crisscrossed bars on the bed where one of Lalo’s suitcases lay open. Lalo emerged from the closet with an armful of clothes. He dropped them on the bed and started folding them.

Jesús looked back and forth between the two of them. “You sure you can’t leave tomorrow? Or next week? Ricardo and I will probably be leaving soon ourselves. Why don’t we finish out our vacation together?”

Lalo looked over his shoulder and bared his teeth in a smile. “I’m sure.”

“But…” Jesús trailed off. Then his face lit up. “We haven’t been dancing yet! I promised Ciro I’d take him to the club. Do you know he’s never been?”

“Yeah!” Ciro said. He wasn’t eager to leave right away either. He turned to Lalo. “Can we go?”

“You’ll want to get an earlier start when you do leave, anyway,” Jesús pointed out. “I mean, it’s almost eight thirty. Isn’t the drive like, sixteen hours or something? You won't want to be driving at night, right?”

Lalo approached them and slung an arm over Ciro’s shoulders. “I’ve never needed much sleep. Cirito can nap if he needs to—I’ll be doing all the driving, after all.”

Did Lalo really mean to drive sixteen hours straight? What was so urgent? “That’s a really long drive,” Ciro murmured.

“Well, we can break it up if you like. I know a little place along the way we can spend the night. Nice and quiet.”

 _Quiet_. Ciro would be getting a lot of that in the next few months. He spun around so he could put his arms around Lalo. “Just one more night. Please?”

Lalo sighed. “All right. One more night.”

“Thank you.” Ciro grinned and kissed him.

While they were kissing, Jesús slipped into the room. “Then we better decide what you’re going to wear!” He took Ciro by the hand and pulled him away from Lalo and towards the closet. “Come on, _chico_ —let’s see what you got.”

Lalo returned to folding clothes while Ciro and Jesús went to the closet. As soon as they were inside, Jesús lowered his voice to a whisper. “What did you do with your money? You got it hidden away?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me.”

Ciro opened one of the dresser drawers and pulled out a bulging sock. “It’s in here.”

“Good.” His gaze lit on Ciro’s duffle bag. “That’s yours? He won’t look in it?”

“I-I guess not.”

Jesús plucked the sock from Ciro’s hand and crouched down. He unzipped the duffle bag and found an interior pocket, then stuffed the sock in. “There,” he said as he re-zipped everything and stood. “But make sure you pack your own bag. Promise me.”

Jesús’s urgent tone made Ciro’s stomach twist. “I promise. But I don’t see why—”

“There it is!” Jesús said, no longer whispering. He grabbed a shirt from the drawer behind Ciro. “I remember lending you this. What do you think, Lalo?”

Lalo stood in the doorway—Ciro hadn’t heard him approaching. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “The crop top? I thought we decided it wasn’t his style.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Yellow suits him. And it would be great for the club.”

Lalo came into the closet fully. He reached behind Jesús and pulled a shirt from one of the hangers—a tight red T-shirt. He’d bought it for Ciro on one of their shopping trips. “How about red?” he said, holding it up to Ciro.

“Red’s good too,” Jesús chirped. “And the black jeans, with the fray.” He tapped his lips. “But what about shoes? How about we go back to that boutique? One last shopping trip?”

“Sounds fun,” Lalo said. “I’ll come too. Why don’t you go let Ricardo in our plans?”

Jesús smiled weakly. “Right.”

Ciro used the bathroom while Lalo showed Jesús out. He was brushing his teeth when Lalo returned. “What were you two whispering about?” His tone was light, but his eyes were serious.

Ciro continued to brush, grateful for a few seconds to get his thoughts together. He didn’t like the idea of hiding anything from Lalo—maybe he should just confess. On the other hand, Jesús had been so worried, and it seemed disloyal to dismiss his concerns completely.

Besides, now that Lalo was going back to “work,” Ciro was getting nervous, too. There had been as many dead narcos as civilians the day his father and brother were killed. He didn’t know how Lalo would take it if he expressed his fears. Maybe he’d be insulted by Ciro’s lack of faith in him. Probably best not to bring it up.

Ciro spat and rinsed. “He wants us to say another week.”

“That’s all? He's not whispering to you how I’m going to cheat on you?” Lalo scowled. “He’s never liked me, you know. I don’t know what I did to offend him so much that he wants to destroy our relationship.”

“He doesn’t!” Ciro insisted. He headed back to the closet. Lalo had dressed already, but Ciro was still in the T-shirt and boxers he slept in. “He’s just worried about me, is all.”

“So he _does_ talk to you about me.” When Ciro didn’t respond, Lalo put a hand on his arm and spun him around. “What does he say? Tell me.”

Ciro shook himself out of his grip, now annoyed himself. “He says you’ve never been in a serious relationship. That you always have multiple guys. Was he lying?”

Lalo’s anger drained away. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That was in the past.”

“Which is what I tell him!” Something dawned on him. “Is this the real reason why you want to leave? Because you think Jesús is going to talk me out of our relationship?”

Lalo hesitated for the briefest moment. “I told you, _cariño_. I want time to get you settled before I have to leave.”

He was insecure! The thought flooded Ciro with warmth. He threw his arms around Lalo. “I love you, Lalo. Nothing anyone can ever say will change my mind. Just—trust me, okay?” He tucked his face into the crook of his neck.

Lalo smoothed Ciro’s hair. “I do, _pájarito_. It’s the world I don’t trust.”

Ciro pulled back to meet his gaze. “And you won’t be with anyone but me, right?”

“I swear it.” He kissed his temple. “Enough of this talk. Let’s have a nice last day of vacation, yeah?”

They headed downstairs for breakfast, where Ricardo and Jesús were waiting. It had become a routine for them—breakfast, then a discussion of the day’s plan. Ciro would miss this—Jesús’s quips, Ricardo’s wry observations. Ricardo was saddened to hear of their departure. They made plans to do it all again sometime next year, although no one put an exact date on it.

But something had shifted in Lalo’s demeanor—his laughter was a little too loud, and there was a sharpness to his gaze, particularly when he looked at Jesús. It reminded Ciro of that horrible night at the bar back home, when Lalo acted as if he hadn’t a care in the world, right up until the moment that he stabbed Blanco’s eye out.

Ciro was being ridiculous. Lalo wouldn’t hurt their friends. Still—he couldn’t help thinking that maybe this was the last breakfast the four of them would share. And then Lalo would be Ciro’s whole world.

He shivered despite the heat. But why? It was what he wanted.

Wasn’t it?

* * *

They had a good last day—one last shopping spree in the Zona Romántica, one last lunch at their favorite spot, one last kiss in the waves. Ciro savored each moment. The last few weeks had been the best of his life, but he tried not to be sad. After all, his life was just beginning. Who knew what other adventures Lalo would take him on?

They headed to the club around ten. Lalo rolled his eyes when Jesús dusted himself and Ciro in glitter, but Ciro liked the way it made him sparkle. He’d kept to himself so much through his teenage years, trying to be invisible in his T-shirt and jeans, worried that someone might guess. It felt good to shine, to be seen.

The club was in walking distance, about half a mile from the hotel. Ricardo had decided not to come, so it was just the three of them—him, Lalo, and Jesús. Ciro’s heart fluttered as he walked arm and arm with Jesús, who chattered about how much fun they would have. Lalo hung back, unusually quiet. He’d been quiet all day, in fact. Ciro kept looking behind to make sure he was still there. He always smiled when Ciro met his eyes, but it was brittle.

They got to skip the line because Jesús had a friend there. A wave of noise and flashing lights hit Ciro in a blast so strong he nearly stumbled. It was like stepping into another dimension, where it could be both light and dark at the same time, and the heat came not from the sun, but from the writhing crush of bodies. The music threatened to deafen him. He hesitated, overwhelmed.

“Shots!” Jesús shouted over the music. “That’s what we need! Come on, _chico!_ Don’t be shy!”

Jesús was right—shots were just what they needed, although Ciro gagged at the first one. Lalo loosened up and seemed more like his usual self. He slid a hand around Ciro’s waist and kissed his neck. “You want to dance?”

Ciro’s stomach flipped. “I don’t know how.”

“I’ll teach you.”

The three of them headed to the dance floor. Ciro’s self-consciousness melted in the pulsing heat of the dancers. Lalo, unsurprisingly, was an excellent dancer. Jesús was, too, and between the two of them, they had Ciro dancing like he’d been clubbing for ages. He loved it—the deep thumping bass of the music, the laughter and shouts, the way the men touched each other, sensual and intimate despite—or maybe because of—the anonymity.

Back to the bar, more shots, then more dancing. At last, Lalo leaned in to speak in his ear. “You want to take a break?”

“No!” Ciro did a little shimmy.

Lalo laughed. “Okay then. I’ll be over there.” He pointed off to the side to lounge-like area, where the music wasn’t quite so loud. He waved to Jesús. “You two have fun!”

After he left, Jesús pressed up behind him. “You having a good time?”

“Yes!” Ciro spun around and they danced, laughing with their arms around each other. Ciro was lucky to have such a good friend.

Something behind Ciro caught Jesús’s eye, and he let out a delighted scream. “ _Loca!”_

Ciro turned around. Three men, fabulous in their regalia, pounced on Jesús, and Ciro somehow got swept up in their excited embrace.

“Ciro, these are my friends—” Jesús shouted, but their names were swallowed by the music. “Where have you bitches been?”

“Here, _loca_ ,” said one. “Where have _you_ been? That old man of yours keeping you busy? Is he here?”

“It’s past his bedtime.” More laughter. “I’m buying you all drinks. Come on, Ciro!”

Ciro smiled and shook his head. He was glad Jesús ran into his friends, but he’d feel out of place. “I’m not done dancing—you have fun!”

Jesús made a couple more half-hearted attempts at bringing Ciro along, but he was clearly eager to catch up with his friends. Ciro looked over to the lounge but couldn’t see Lalo. Strangely, it didn’t bother him. For the first time since arriving in Pureta Vallarta, he was on his own.

Or not on his own, exactly—no one could be alone with so many people. He liked the feeling—alone but not alone, becoming one with a crowd. He noticed a man watching him—a little older, but only by a few years. Jesús’s age, maybe. Good looking in a rugged way, brown-skinned like him with dark, wavy hair and a bit of scruff. He swept his gaze over Ciro—appreciative, but not aggressive.

He made his way to Ciro, and soon they were dancing together—not touching, although it was clear the guy wanted to. A little thrill went through him. He thought about what Francisco had said about making Lalo jealous, and about how passionate Lalo had been after he saw Ciro smoking with that guy at the beach the other day. Ciro wouldn’t let it go too far, but maybe having Lalo see him dance with another guy wouldn’t be the worst thing. And besides—Lalo had been the only guy who had ever showed an interest in him. The idea that other men might like him made him warm.

After dancing for a little while, the man pointed to the bar. Ciro smiled and accepted the unspoken invitation.

“What are you drinking?” the guy asked when they got there.

“Tequila Sunrise.” It was the only drink whose name he could remember.

The man said something to the bartender. Two drinks appeared—the man handed one to Ciro. “Sweet like you.”

Ciro’s heart leapt in his throat as he accepted the drink. Someone was flirting with him. Should he try to flirt back? What would he even say? “I’m here with my boyfriend,” was what came out. Experiment over. No way could he do this with someone other than Lalo.

The guy’s eyebrows raised, but he didn’t seem upset. “So you guys looking for a third?”

Ciro furrowed his brow. “A third what?”

The guy laughed like Ciro had made a joke, and then gave Ciro another look and tamped down his laughter. “Never mind.” He held out his hand and smiled. “I’m Pedro.”

Ciro accepted it. “Ciro.”

“So you having fun?” Pedro asked.

“Yeah! I’ve never been dancing before.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed—you’re a great dancer.”

“Thanks!” He rubbed his neck. “I hope I didn’t lead you on.”

Pedro shook his head. “The club’s a great place to make friends, too. You guys on vacation?”

“Yeah. It’s actually kind of a honeymoon. I’m moving in with him.”

“Wow, that’s a big step.”

“Yeah.” Ciro took a large gulp of his drink. The thrill had fizzled out, but now he wasn’t sure how to extract himself. But just then, someone tapped him on the shoulder—a short guy in a black tank top. “Hey, you Ciro?” When Ciro nodded, he gestured toward the lounge area. “Your boyfriend’s looking for you. He’s over there.”

“Thank you,” he said, grateful for the excuse but a bit puzzled why Lalo hadn’t come for him himself. He turned to Pedro. “Sorry. Thanks for the drink.”

“My pleasure. Maybe I’ll see you two later.”

The lounge was darker and marginally less noisy, although the bass thrummed the floor even here. He spotted Lalo at last, and he wasn’t alone. It was only when he got closer that he saw who it was.

Francisco. Who had his arms around Lalo’s neck as they kissed.

It felt like he’d stepped on thin ice and plunged into a freezing lake. The surrounding sound grew faint, muffled by the rush of blood in his ears. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t _breathe._ His drink slipped from his fingers—the crash was enough to shake him out of his stupor. He had no idea what to do, but his feet decided for him—he ran.

Tears blinded him as he stumbled back to the bar, looking desperately for Jesús. Instead, he bumped into Pedro again.

“Whoa!” Pedro put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“He’s kissing his ex,” Ciro blurted out, and the tears in his eyes spilled over.

Pedro said something that Ciro couldn’t hear over the music and the relentless beat of his own heart, thudding so hard he thought it might tear him apart. Pedro steered him outside to the smoking patio. He got him a chair and helped him sit down as he tried and failed to hold himself together. “What am I supposed to do?” he gasped between sobs. “I left home for him, and I can’t go back. I just can’t!”

“Hey, take a deep breath. Here—” He handed him a handkerchief.

Ciro blew his nose and took in a few shaky breaths. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re a total stranger. You don’t need to be in the middle of this.”

“It’s okay. We’ve all been there. You come with anyone else?”

“Yeah—my friend Jesús.”

“You want me to go find him?”

The thought of having to explain the situation made his stomach lurch. “Yeah, but I need a minute.” He put his head in his hands. “I’m so fucking _stupid_.”

“No,” Pedro said firmly. “If he had someone like you and he’s off with his ex, then he’s the idiot.” He rubbed his back. “Lucky you found out now than before you moved in with him, yeah? You’ll find someone else.”

Ciro bit back fresh tears. “I’ve never even kissed another guy,” he said.

“Then you have something to look forward to! I know it feels like the end of the world, but I promise you you’ll get through it. Every single guy here has had his heart broken—I guarantee it.”

“Can I kiss you?” Ciro asked before he could stop himself.

Pedro rubbed his neck. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”

Ciro’s shoulders slumped as he hung his head. “Yeah. I guess not.”

A moment later, a warm hand cupped his cheek and gently tilted his face up. Ciro looked into Pedro’s kind, brown eyes—there were no lines etched into his face, no white streak in his hair, no thrilling but dangerous glint in his eye. Just a normal person—someone he might have met at a club if he’d taken Rosa’s offer and moved to the city with her.

“But maybe it’s only fair, yeah?" Pedro said. "One kiss, and then we’ll find your friend.”

Ciro shut his eyes just before their mouths met. His lips were soft, and he tasted sweet in a way that Lalo never did. Was the world filled with sweet lips? Was he going to find out?

* * *

_Earlier…_

Lalo left Ciro on the dance floor—Jesús would look after him. He wasn’t tired, exactly, but he’d finally reached his breaking point when it came to people. That was always the way with him—he loved the high life until suddenly he didn’t. All he wanted to do was take Ciro home, but he wanted to let his _pájarito_ have some fun—end their honeymoon on a high note.

He got a whiskey on the rocks from the bar and settled in the lounge. Couples all around him were making use of the relative dark, wrapped up either in conversation or something more primal. Lalo sipped his drink and dreamed of the peace of home.

His peace didn’t last long. Out of the darkness slithered Francisco, wearing tight leather pants and a sharp smirk. “Well, if it isn’t _mi_ _cochino_. Fancy meeting you here.”

Lalo rolled his eyes. “You stalking me? You that hard up for attention?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you. Maybe I just felt like dancing.”

“You hate this club.”

Francisco pouted. “It has its charms. Remember that one time you brought me here—what was it, three years ago?”

“When you drank so much tequila you puked on the dance floor?”

“No, that other time when we fucked right over there.” He pointed at a corner where a couple was wrapped in an embrace.

Lalo put down his drink and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want?”

“Would you believe me if I said you?”

Lalo laughed. “Not interested.”

“Are you sure? Now that I know what you’re really into, I can accommodate you.” Francisco made his eyes big as his voice went breathy. “You want to put it _where_? Oh no, Papi, it’s too big!”

Lalo had him pushed up against the wall, a hand around his throat, before either of them could blink.

Francisco’s eyes flashed. “There you are! I was starting to wonder if Princesa Cirita reformed you, after all. But no—you’re still my big, bad wolf.” He laughed.

His laughter turned into a wheeze as Lalo put pressure on his throat. Lalo leaned in until their faces were inches apart. “I thought I was a pig.”

“A boar,” he gasped, still laughing. “One those wild ones with the tusks.” When Lalo squeezed harder, Francisco struggled unsuccessfully to break out of his grasp. Lalo waited until his face turned red before releasing him.

Francisco coughed and rubbed his neck—but he was still smiling. “Remember the games we used to play? Don’t you miss them?”

“I’m too old for games.”

“If you say so.” Francisco draped his arms over Lalo’s shoulders. “But I’m not.” He kissed him.

Lalo allowed it for a moment before pushing him off. “And now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, why don’t you fuck off?”

“You’re making a mistake,” Francisco said. “You’ll break that boy, and then you’ll hate yourself.”

“And you’re hoping I’ll come take it out on you. Is that it?”

He clucked his tongue. “Oh no. This is your last chance, _cochino_.”

Lalo bared his teeth. “I’d rather stick my dick in a woodchipper than get it anywhere near you again.”

He expected an outburst, but Francisco merely shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He sauntered away.

Lalo blinked. That had been way too easy. What was he up to?

Francisco looked back over his shoulder. “You might want to find that boy of yours. It’s easy to lose people here.”

What did he mean by that? Lalo clamped down on the nerves that bubbled in his stomach—just Francisco trying to get under his skin, and succeeding, as usual. He shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of doing just as he said. All the same, he’d feel better when he had Ciro at his side again.

He went back to the dance floor. No Ciro. His chest grew tighter and tighter with every passing moment. Where was he? Had Francisco done something to him? And where the hell was Jesús? He checked the bar next—still no Ciro, but he found Jesús with a gaggle of friends.

“Eduardo!” Jesús said with a lot more enthusiasm than he normally had for his presence. “You want a shot?”

“Where’s Ciro?”

Jesús frowned. “On the dance floor, last I checked.”

“Well, he isn’t any more.”

“Huh. Maybe he went for a cigarette.” Jesús tried to turn back to his friends, but Lalo grabbed him by the arm.

“You’re going to help me find him. _Now._ ”

Jesús broke out of his grip and glared at him. “I am visiting with my friends. Ciro is an adult—that’s what you’re always saying, right? Stop being such a weirdo. He’ll turn up.”

Lalo stalked off, irritated at Jesús for brushing him off, but irritated at himself too because Jesús was right. He was being ridiculous. It made perfect sense that Ciro had left for a cigarette. Still, the tightness in his chest only got worse. He forced himself to walk, not run to the patio.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust from the flashing lights of the club. He spotted Ciro slumped in a chair, talking to some man—

—who put his hand on Ciro’s face and pulled him into a kiss.

Rage like fire burned through him. He lunged at the man, shoving him away from Ciro. The man went reeling, but managed to stay on his feet.

“Get your hands off him!” Lalo snarled. “He’s mine!”

The man steadied himself and held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not looking for a fight.”

Lalo gave him one more sneer before turning to Ciro, whose eyes were wide as saucers. “And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Ciro started to stutter something out, but Lalo cut him off. “Never mind—I don’t want to hear it. We’re leaving.”

“Hey!” the man shouted. “Let him go!”

Lalo whirled around. “This isn’t any of your business.”

The man looked past Lalo to Ciro. “You don’t have to go with him, Ciro.”

Lalo stared at him in astonishment. Who the fuck was this guy? He let go of Ciro and stalked toward him. “I’m going to give you one warning,” he said, getting up in his face. “Walk away _now_.”

The man met his gaze coolly and then walked not away, but toward Ciro. “We can call the cops. If you need a place to stay, I can—”

Lalo spun him around and punched him in the face—from the satisfying crack, it sounded like Lalo had broken his nose. As the man fell to the ground, Lalo pulled his switchblade from his back pocket and opened it with a flick.

“Lalo, _no!_ ” Ciro screamed. He wasn’t the only one screaming—the whole patio had erupted, with some people running inside, some rushing to the man’s aid, and others forming a circle around them. _Mierda_. Somebody probably was calling the cops right now. He put his knife away.

“You have any other suitors who are going to give us a problem?” he asked Ciro.

Ciro shook his head.

He grabbed him by the wrist. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

Ciro said nothing on the walk back to the hotel, and neither did Lalo. Ciro had never seen him so angry. He’d been frightening that night in the bar with Blanco and his men, but there hadn’t been any anger in his cruelty. What was Lalo capable of when he was angry?

He was about to find out.

When they got back to their suite, Lalo shoved Ciro towards one of the armchairs. “Sit.”

Ciro did as he was told. Lalo took the other chair and put his hands to his face, as if gathering himself. When he pulled his hands away, he was smiling the same strange smile he’d given Blanco before his attack. A smile that lied. “So tell me,” he said, his tone casual, “who was that?”

Ciro swallowed. “N-no one. Just some guy I met.”

“Some guy,” Lalo echoed. “Huh. Some guy who seemed really interested in my business. You brag about your boyfriend being a big-shot narco? And that made him want to rescue you?”

Ciro stomach plummeted—he hadn’t even considered that Lalo’s mind might jump to that. “No! I would never tell anyone your business, never!”

“So what, you wanted to make me jealous?” His smile stayed in place. “You playing games with me, Cirito?”

Ciro shook his head frantically. “No, no!” He started to cry.

“Then _tell me._ ” The smile dropped. His face was so still, his voice so cold. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

Ciro just kept shaking his head, unable to answer, as sobs racked his body.

Lalo rubbed his forehead. “Oh for God’s sake, that’s enough!” he finally said, his lip curled in disgust. “Be a man and get ahold of yourself!”

“I…can’t…” Ciro gasped.

Lalo shot to his feet and crossed the distance between them. He grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Ciro let out a wail, but that only made Lalo angrier. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid—”

A sudden burst of anger cut through Ciro’s fear. He pushed Lalo away with enough strength to send him stumbling backward. “And what about you?!” he screamed. “Making out with your ex in the middle of the club?”

Lalo steadied himself and blinked in surprise. “Now, hold on, that wasn’t what it looked like—”

Ciro cut him off with a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m sure. I mean, why even bother hiding when poor, _stupid_ Ciro will believe anything you say?” He wiped the tears from his cheeks angrily. “You swore to me you wouldn’t cheat— _you swore!_ ”

“It wasn’t like that! He—” Lalo stopped. “Wait. How did you know that was my ex?” He didn’t seem so angry now.

Ciro wiped his nose on the back of his hand and took a shaky breath. “He ran into me yesterday. I was having a cigarette while Jesús tried on shoes. He said that he saw us at the beach the other day.”

Lalo ran a hand over his mouth. “What did he say to you?”

“He told me how you left him, even after he did everything he could to keep you happy!”

“Oh, is that what he said?” Lalo chuckled darkly. “What else?”

“He said that he made things too easy for you, and that I should…” He trailed off.

“That you should what?” Lalo prompted.

Ciro swallowed. “That if I wanted to keep you, I should make you jealous,” he said, so quiet he could barely hear himself.

Lalo heaved an enormous sigh. “I should have known. No wonder I got rid of him so easy.”

Ciro furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Francisco is a nasty piece of work. I insulted his pride by leaving him, and this is his revenge. Think about it. He runs into you on the street and plants the seed of doubt in your mind. Then he follows us to the club and makes sure you see him kiss me. And then he knew you’d follow his advice.” He spread his arms. “And here we are, just like he planned. I’m almost impressed.”

Could it be true? There had been that man who had told Ciro Lalo was looking for him…had Francisco sent him? “But I saw you kiss him.”

“No, I let him kiss me before I told him to fuck off. Did you see me grab him by the throat?”

“No.”

“Well, I did. He didn’t try to make me happy, Ciro. We were miserable—nothing but fights our entire relationship. Ask Jesús if you don’t believe me.” He shook his head and laughed again to himself before turning his attention back to Ciro. “Didn’t you think it was strange that my ex was offering you relationship advice? Why would you listen to him?”

Because he was stupid. Ciro burned with shame. He had destroyed their relationship over nothing. An urge to flee overcame him, and he bolted for the French doors that led out to the pool.

“Where are you going?” Lalo called after him, but Ciro barely heard him. He ran to the far end of the patio and hopped over the railing. He turned until he faced outward, gripping the rails behind his back. There wasn’t much of a ledge—his feet barely fit.

“Ciro!” Not angry now—Lalo’s voice was tight with panic. “What are you doing?”

Ciro looked back over his shoulder. “I fucked everything up!” His tears started to flow again.

“No, no—it was just a misunderstanding!” His tone was pleading now. “Nothing’s fucked up. Get away from there, and we’ll talk about it.”

Ciro turned back around to face the drop. His stomach lurched as he looked down. Was he high enough to kill himself if he jumped? Did he really want to die? All he knew was that he couldn’t bear to feel the way he felt a moment longer.

“ _Cariño_ , please.” Lalo’s voice was closer now. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

“Liar!” What else had he lied about?

“I’m not lying—I overreacted. We both did. Come on, now—”

“Do you love me?” Ciro’s body rattled with every beat of his heart.

No response for several long moments. “Ciro.” Lalo’s voice was soft in a way Ciro had never heard before. “Please don’t do this.”

Ciro stopped crying. “You don’t, do you? You never did.”

“That’s not true!”

“Then why won’t you say it?!” Ciro screamed. One foot slipped. Panic overcame him—this was a mistake, it was all a mistake, he didn’t want to die—his foot slipped again—

Lalo grabbed him in the nick of time and pulled him over the railing. They collapsed on the ground, Lalo’s arms around him as Ciro cried.

“I’m sorry,” Ciro said between sobs. “I’m so _stupid_.”

“Nonono, don’t say that.” Lalo rocked him. “Shh, _pájarito_. You’re all right. Everything’s all right.” But his voice was shaking.

Ciro looked up at Lalo. The blue light coming from the pool cast an eerie glow, as if they were underwater. His chest felt heavy, his head swam—he was drowning, they both were drowning—

“Do you love me?” he asked one last, desperate time.

Lalo’s breath came in shallow gasps, and his eyes were wide, desperate. Was he afraid? Lalo shut his eyes and swallowed before responding. “Yes.”

“Then tell me,” Ciro begged. “Please.”

“I love you.” His voice cracked on the last word.

Ciro gasped, able to breathe at last. He thought of divers who surfaced too quickly, their relief morphing to madness as they escaped the crushing, suffocating depths of the ocean. He put a hand on Lalo’s face. His cheek was wet—had he been crying too? He surged upward and kissed him.

Everything became slow and dreamy as they kissed, underwater again but they couldn’t drown, not with how they breathed into each other. Lalo helped him to his feet. When he stumbled, Lalo swept an arm under his knees and carried him back into their room. He put him gently on the bed. Clothes were shed until they were bare in each other’s arms.

Lalo left him briefly to get what they needed—just the lube, no condom. He kissed Ciro tenderly before moving his slicked fingers between his legs. Pleasure pulsated from his core as Lalo stroked him from the inside, but it still wasn’t enough. Ciro reached for him desperately. “Please, I want you inside me.”

Lalo pulled away to slick himself; Ciro held his breath until Lalo was on top of him again. Lalo’s hands ran over his thighs to his knees, encouraging him to open wider. Ciro spread himself as far open as he was able. With shaking hands, Lalo lined himself up and pressed inside.

Pain. Pleasure. Ciro couldn’t tell them apart anymore as Lalo moved inside him, inch by inch until he his hips lay flush with Ciro’s body. Lalo dropped to his elbows, his face hovering over Ciro’s. Something dripped on him—a bead of sweat? A tear?

“Tell me again,” Ciro whispered.

“I love you.” Lalo pulled out an inch, then sank back in.

Ciro moaned. “Again.”

“I love you.” Lalo made a strange, low sound—something that might have been a sob. “Oh Ciro, I love you.” He kissed him.

They lost themselves in the rhythm after that, moving like ocean waves, riding an inevitable tide. Lalo’s rhythm stuttered as his strokes grew longer, deeper. “I’m close,” Lalo gasped in his ear.

Ciro moaned and moved his hips to meet Lalo’s thrusts, encouraging him. “Yes, in me, please!”

Lalo thrust once, twice, and then with a great cry he came, pushing himself as deeply inside as he could go as his whole body shuddered. Ciro wrapped all four limbs around Lalo and held him there. He could almost feel Lalo pulsing inside him, filling him up. He rubbed himself against Lalo and then he came, too, spilling between them.

Ciro only released Lalo when his limbs began to ache. He moaned with disappointment as Lalo pulled out. When Lalo started to get out of bed, Ciro grabbed his arm. “No, don’t go!”

“I’m just going to get a washcloth to clean up.”

“I don’t need to be clean.” He tugged on him. “Don’t leave, please.”

Lalo relented. He took Ciro back in his arms. Ciro sighed in contentment as he rested his head on Lalo’s chest, listening to the gentle thud of his heart. He imagined his own heart thumping in time, beating like wings that would fly them north, to Lalo’s estate, to home. He drifted, and then he dreamed.

* * *

They had to get out of there.

Lalo waited until he was certain Ciro was asleep before getting out of bed. A quick shower and change, and then he set about finishing packing. He’d let Ciro sleep a couple hours, but then they needed to go.

Things were fine when it was just the two of them. Other people ruined it—Rosa, Jesús, Francisco, Hector. The only way to stay safe was to retreat. Ciro was so prone to getting confused, but life in his Elysium was simple. All he needed to do was get him there and then lock the gates. Keep him hidden. Safe.

He finished with his own clothes and turned to Ciro’s. When he started placing things in the old duffle bag, he felt a curious bulge. He withdrew a large sock from a hidden pocket. Inside was a massive wad of cash.

Lalo stared at it for several long moments. What was it doing in Ciro’s bag? Lalo had given him money, but he had spent it all on that necklace, hadn’t he? He flipped through the bills—it was more than he had given him, in fact. How was that possible? Where was he getting it from? Why did he hide it?

A slip of paper tucked in the middle gave him his answer. Jesús. His fist closed around the paper. What lies had Jesús told him? Or even worse—what truths?

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. “Ciro? Eduardo? Are you in there?” Another few knocks, more insistent now. “It’s Jesús—open up!”

Lalo put the cash in his pocket. He checked on Ciro—still dead to the world, even with the racket—and then answered the door.

Jesús stood there, his unnaturally blond hair in disarray for once, fanning out around his head like a platinum halo. “Where is he?”

“He’s asleep, so keep your voice down. He’s had a hard night.”

“Is he okay?” He looked him up and down. “Are you okay?”

“We’re both fine.”

Jesús pressed his lips together. “Can I see him?”

“I told you,” Lalo said shortly. “He’s asleep.”

Jesús eyed him—and then rushed past him into the room. “Ciro, where are you?”

Lalo could have thrown him out, but by then it was too late—Ciro had stirred. “Jesús?” he said sleepily.

Jesús rushed to Ciro’s side. “Hey, _chico_ ,” he said a little too brightly. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took Ciro’s hand. “I was a little worried about you. Everything okay?”

Ciro yawned. “Yeah.” He looked over Jesús’s shoulder to Lalo and his face broke out in a smile. He turned back to Jesús. “It’s wonderful, actually. But I’m really tired. Can we talk tomorrow?” He yawned again.

“Of course you can,” Lalo lied. “Go back to sleep, _cariño_.”

Ciro did as he was told. As soon as his eyes were closed, Lalo grabbed Jesús by the arm and escorted him out the door.

“Honestly,” Jesús said, breaking out of his grip. “There’s no need to manhandle me.”

“So you satisfied now?”

Jesús shook his head. “Not really. What the _fuck_ happened back there? They said you tried to stab someone? Over Ciro?”

“A misunderstanding,” Lalo said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Jesús opened his mouth to respond, but shut it tight when Lalo pulled the cash out of his pocket. “I found this in Ciro’s bag. You give it to him?”

Jesús swallowed. “You did, actually," he said, aiming for casual and missing. "I told him to stash a few bucks away for a rainy day.”

“For a rainy day, eh? And why did you tell him to hide it from me?”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Lalo snapped.

Jesús crossed his arms. “Well, if you already know the answer, then what’s with the interrogation?”

Lalo shook his head and laughed a little. “Why are you so intent on destroying what Ciro and I have? You’re always in his ear, trying to turn him away from me, and for what? Do you really hate me so much?”

“It’s not about hating you. I’m worried.”

“Because you think I’m going to use him up and throw him away.”

“That’s not what I think.”

Lalo scoffed. “Oh, really?”

“I mean—I did at first. And if we’re being honest, I thought it was pretty despicable. But hey—I was a kid from a nowhere town once who got whisked away by an older man, and nothing anyone could have said to me would have changed my mind. I haven’t said shit to Ciro about you. That’s a lesson he was going to have to learn for himself. All I could do was try to break his fall.”

Lalo absorbed that. “But if you changed your mind about me, why are you still worried?”

Jesús took a moment before he responded. “Like I said, I had my whirlwind romance with a cad who ditched me the moment he got bored. He broke my heart and left me stranded, but broken hearts heal and I got back on my feet, bruised but a little wiser. I had a friend, though—Santiago. He had a similar story to mine, but his man _loved_ him. They always had so much drama—every fight bigger than the last, but every apology so sweet that Santiago forgave him, even through the bruises and the broken bones. Until one day, my friend’s man strangled him to death.”

Lalo’s stomach turned. “That isn’t what it’s like with us.”

“So you didn’t try to stab someone out of jealousy just now?”

“You’ve never liked me,” Lalo said, ignoring the question. “And you think that because of what I do, I must be a bad person, and you just can’t stand to be proven wrong.”

Jesús threw his hand up. “For fuck’s sake, Eduardo! I would love to be proven wrong! If I thought you were hopeless, we wouldn't be having this conversation. So prove it. If you love him, take him home. Not your home—his, with his family. Break his heart if you love him. He doesn’t belong in your world. You know that. Because if you take him with you, then it’s yourself you love more than him.”

Lalo stared at him for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was dark. “If you really think I’m that kind of monster, then maybe you should watch what you say to me.” It was only mildly gratifying when Jesús took a half a step backward, his eyes widened, his breath quickening in the telltale pulse of fear. Lalo held out the cash. “Ciro won’t be needing this. Why don’t you take it?”

“I’m not taking your money.”

“Not even for a rainy day?” Lalo sneered. “Suit yourself.” He threw the money. The bills scattered everywhere and fluttered around them like a flock of startled birds. “Leave us alone.” He went inside and slammed the door shut.

Lalo finished packing. In one of Ciro’s drawers he found a pack of cigarettes. He didn’t smoke much himself, but it sounded good right now. He stepped through the French doors. It was three o’clock in the morning and he wouldn’t sleep until he made it home. He tried not to think about how his decade-long friendship with Ricardo was likely at an end.

He flicked the lighter—a spark of yellow in the otherwise blue-lit night. Inhale. Exhale. He could see his breath as if it were winter some place where it snowed. Maybe he’d take Ciro skiing—wrap him up in a parka and scarves so no one could see him except Lalo when he brought him inside to their cabin after a long day in the snow. Lalo would unwrap him, kiss away the snowflakes from his eyelashes and lay him out on the rug and have him there in front of the fire roaring in the hearth. Warm. Safe.

He waited until the sky turned gray and the gulls started to cry before he went inside. Ciro had thrown off the covers in his sleep and lay sprawled on his back, his head lolled to the side, displaying that bruised bite mark, like some vampire had taken advantage after Ciro had foolishly invited him in. His skin sparkled with glitter from the club. Come had dried on his stomach and between his legs.

Lalo sat on the bed and stroked his cheek. “Wake up, Cirito. It’s time to go.”

Ciro moaned and stirred. “What time is it?”

“Early. We have to get on the road. Come on, you need a shower.”

Ciro allowed himself to be steered to the bathroom and put in the shower. Lalo called guest services in the meantime. The bellhops arrived just as Ciro finished up. Lalo helped him get dressed while the bellhops took their bags out to the car. He’d left out a T-shirt and faded jeans for Ciro—an outfit for his country boy.

“Can we say goodbye to Jesús and Ricardo?” Ciro asked around a yawn.

“Nah, it’s too early. We don’t want to bother them.”

They stepped out of their suite for the last time. Ciro stumbled, blurry-eyed and still half-sleep. He frowned at the money that still littered the ground, like he couldn’t make sense of it. “Someone lost their money…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Lalo put his arm around Ciro’s shoulders. “We can be home by dinner, but only if we go now. Come on, _dormilón,_ you can sleep in the car. Careful, don’t stumble—here, lean on me, I’ve got you. There’s a place for breakfast on the way—they make amazing _chilaquiles_ , although they don’t hold a candle to Yolanda’s. Won’t it be nice to have home cooking again? Just a little bit farther and we’ll be on our way. You’re shivering, _cariño_ —are you cold? I’ve got a jacket in the car you can wear, but the sun will be up soon and you’ll be warm again. I’ll put down the top once it gets hot—you like that, don’t you? Remember our first drive together? You were so shy, but you braved it to curl up to me. It melted my heart, it truly did. And I’m sorry for last night—it just made me so crazy to see someone else touch you. But never mind, that’s in the past, we won’t speak of it again. You forgive me, don’t you? You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll take care of you, _mi pájarito_ , and we’ll be happy.

“You won’t have to worry about anything ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes Act 2! I just want to assure everyone that both of them are alive at the end of the fic lol. But things are going to take a nosedive as Ciro runs out of fairy godsisters and fairy godfriends. It's time for a wicked stepmother type. 
> 
> Hoping to keep to a chapter every two weeks schedule. Let me know what you think - I'd love to hear from you!


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